


A Stark and Endless Waste

by VagrantWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Brainwashing, Cannibalism, Consensual Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Naked Male Clothed Male, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sexual Slavery, forced stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 47,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Post-Apocalypse</p><p>The End has come and gone. A man-made Plague has devastated the human population, while a man-made drought has reduced the countryside to a stark and endless Wasteland. Generations after the End, the remaining humans fight to survive in a harsh and unforgiving land. The strong take what they want and the weak do what they can.</p><p>This is the law of Theon's life until a botched raid leaves him stranded from his gang and left to the mercy of one Robb Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART I

**Author's Note:**

> I told you I'd be back. And with another insane AU no less. 
> 
> This is pretty much going to follow The Kraken Affair-style storytelling, with lots of disturbing Ramsay/Theon flashbacks, just to warn anyone who's here strictly for the Throbb. Flashback chapters will be labeled, though, with individual warnings beforehand.
> 
> Comments and concrit always welcome, and thanks for reading.

The raid had gone poorly. Some of their men were dead, but all Theon could think about was how angry Ramsay would be. He’d take it out on Theon later. Tonight, probably.

— _You’re trembling, Theon. Are you frightened? That’s cute._ —

From his lookout position behind the bunker, Theon shuddered and for a second, merely a second, thought about running. Maybe nobody would miss him in the aftermath of the raid, while Ramsay and their remaining men slunk off to lick their wounds. By the time Ramsay came for him, he could be long gone.

Long gone to where, though? It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. Just take off, maybe in the middle of the night or when Ramsay was passed out from too much drinking after a successful raid. But these were fleeting thoughts, meant to escape the heat of the moment. After Ramsay was done here, things would go back to calm, and Theon would be left wondering what situation would be preferable to this. He was a decent scavenger, but he wouldn’t last a day in the Wastes on his own. And if he ran across a rival band of raiders, they’d gut him and leave him for dead…or worse.

Still, knowing his options, when he saw Ramsay emerge from the warehouse, his remaining crew in tow, the look of pure rage on his blood-soaked face sent Theon scrambling behind the bunker for cover. Ramsay would find a way to blame this one him—he hadn’t been doing his job properly, he hadn’t alerted them about the extra men, he had _wanted_ them to fail.

— _You wanted me to fail, is that it, Theon? Look at me._ Look at me _when I’m talking to you!_ —

He squeezed his eyes shut and flattened himself against the bunker’s siding. For some reason, the way the boards dug into his back was comforting, grounding. Somewhere, someone was screaming. It might have been him, for all he knew. That happened sometimes. He wouldn’t be aware that he was screaming until later, when his throat hurt too much to even take water.

But no, it didn’t seem to be him. This screaming was full of impotent rage, more of a howling really, with the gnashing of teeth. Maybe. It wasn’t close by and it was getting farther away. Quieter. Tapering off. Like the roar of a train as it sped down the tracks from you.

And then there was another noise. A click. Near. Very near.

He opened his eyes to the muzzle of a shotgun pointed at his face. The man who held it had very red hair. That was the thing he noticed when he looked up. Red hair and serious blue eyes trained right on him. He looked ready to shoot, but he hadn’t shot yet, had actually cocked his gun to draw Theon’s attention when it would have been easier to just kill him right out.

“You with them?” Redhead asked.

Theon swallowed and nodded, feeling about as meek as he’d ever felt.

“You their lookout?”

Theon nodded again.

“Didn’t do a very good job, did you?”

His shook his head in agreement. Ramsay would be angry. If he ever saw Ramsay again.

“We killed three of your men,” Redhead went on. “I don’t want to add another to that count, but I will unless you leave. Now.”

Theon looked up into those serious eyes again to see if he had heard right. The intention behind those words was still there, but why? Why would he just let Theon _leave_ like that? Why give him the option?

“What’s wrong with you?” Redhead demanded, jerking his gun and causing Theon to flinch. “You want another hole in your face? Get going.”

“Please don’t shoot me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Please don’t…make me...” The words dribbled out, like he didn’t quite know what to say.

The tip of the gun lowered a fraction of an inch. Redhead cocked his head and studied him sideways, no doubt taking in Theon’s un-tattered clothes, clean-shaven face, and generally un-slovenly appearance with skepticism. Ramsay really did take care of him. When he wasn’t angry.

“Who gave you that black eye?”

Theon looked at the ground.

“Was it one of our people?”

Theon didn’t answer.

“Are you with them? Really?” Redhead asked.

“I…”

“I won’t make you go back.” The gun shifted and Redhead was holding out his hand, offering to help him up. “You’ll be safe here. I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”

God, was this guy serious? A bruised eye was nothing. In truth, he’d completely forgotten he’d had it. His fingertips brushed it now to feel the dull throb it had faded into, not remembering why Ramsay had hit him. “I’m not weak,” he muttered. “I’ve taken worse. I don’t need your protection.” Why was he arguing? Redhead could just take up the gun again and shoot him. In fact, Theon had probably given him the perfect opening to.

But Redhead just sighed, like his arm was getting tired being held out like that. “You shouldn’t have to take anything from your own tribe.”

Tribe? He’d never heard it described like that. Probably because it was the last word that came to mind when describing Ramsay’s gang, right after “family.”

“Look, I’m not offering protection. I’m just offering…” He paused to think about it for a second. His eyes moved up and away as he contemplated. Stupid. Theon could have rushed him then, wrestled the gun out of his hands, and escaped. “An alternative.”

So why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he escaped when he’d had the chance? Or…was this the chance now? To escape Ramsay?

The hand was still being offered, and without knowing exactly why, Theon reached out and took it. Redhead hauled him to his feet. Standing, he could tell redhead wasn’t that much taller than him, not as tall as Ramsay, anyway. Maybe he could fight this guy off if he changed his mind. He hadn’t been lying about not being weak. It was just…few people were as strong as Ramsay, either.

“You have a name?” Redhead asked.

“Theon.”

Redhead smiled. With their hands clasped, it was almost like a formal handshake, a business deal. “I’m Robb,” he said. “Welcome to Winterfell Tribe.”


	2. With Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just general warnings for Ramsay being a predatory creep.
> 
> Aaaand, that's probably the most understated way of describing Ramsay ever.

He’d ended up with Ramsay under similar conditions: an offer that he’d be taken care of. Well, maybe “offer” was a loose term, since the alternative would have been a bullet between the eyes. Funny how history had a way of repeating itself.

“You alone, kid?” Ramsay had asked, crouching down.

Theon, collapsed on his belly in the dirt, hung his head and stared at the sand seeping up through his clenched fingers. He couldn’t lie, because it was painfully obvious that he was, that nobody knew or cared about where he was or that he was about to die. The only person who might have cared was, himself, dead.

Ramsay had chuckled and nudged his body with one foot. “How old are you?”

“S-sixteen.”

“Hmm. Strike out on your own recently?”

Not by choice. If his uncle hadn’t broken his leg, if his uncle had bothered to take care of himself after he broke his leg, maybe Theon wouldn’t have had to bury him in a shallow grave five days’ journey from here.

“You want to live?”

Theon felt more than saw the gun at Ramsay’s side and shuddered. “I don’t have anything valuable,” he muttered. Nothing to bargain with. “But…I can scavenge. My un—I’ve been stealing stuff since I could walk, too. I’m good. I could be useful to you.”

“So good that you’re all the way out here, about to die?” Ramsay chuckled again.

“That’s…it’s because I…” Theon chewed at his lip. He was blowing this, he knew it. “I’ve stolen from you before. I’ll bet you didn’t even notice.”

His eyebrows went up at that.

“Gallons of water. Packages of food. Clothes. Weapons. Right under your nose. Usually before you inventoried your items.” _After you stole them from someone else_.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” Ramsay said.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Theon managed a pained smile. “But I know you. You’re Ramsay Snow.”

“Everyone knows me,” he answered. He seemed to be chewing on something, grinding his teeth back and forth in a thoughtful sort of way. “My boys have been complaining about missing supplies. I thought they were making excuses. Now I wish I hadn’t shot Grunt over it.” He stood up and kicked at Theon to do the same. “Get up.”

Theon didn’t know if he could. He hadn’t eaten in days, and he was so thirsty he could feel every inch of his cracked tongue. Still he managed to get to his knees, and from there Ramsay grabbed hold of his arm and hoisted him the rest of the way. Theon staggered and Ramsay steadied him, hushing him in an almost affectionate manner.

“Sixteen, huh?” His arm encircled Theon with ease. “You a virgin, kid?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon's uncle in question is Uncle Rodrik Harlaw. Lord, I wouldn't leave our bby kraken to the tender mercy of any of the Greyjoy Uncles. I have some humanity left, y'know.


	3. With Robb

Robb the redhead led him into the bunker, where two men were carrying away a body. Theon recognized Skinner. He was a spectacularly ugly man, and death had not done a thing to fix his already cadaverous face, with its flesh pulled too tightly over his bones. Theon had fucked him once, for extra rations. Ramsay had…not been happy, to say the least.

Besides the two carriers, there were several more people in their group than Theon’s initial reconnaissance had accounted for, about twelve or so. And now Theon could see why Robb used the insistent term “people.” There were women here. At least two. Theon had never seen a woman in person, but he’d seen pictures in old books and magazines, and he recognized them by their long hair. Their faces were smooth, but the two he saw had countenances as hardened as those of the men. Contrary to what the old prints had implied, they wore the same clothes as the men as well, and both were armed with shotguns similar to Robb’s.

“You pick up a Waste Rat, Robb?” one of them, the woman with a mass of curly red hair—the taller and darker of the two—asked with an amused sneer.

“He’s a refugee, Ygritte,” Robb said as he ushered Theon by without introductions. “Just like you.” He steered Theon with feather-light touches to his shoulder. “You’ll meet everyone later,” he whispered, leaning in closer. Theon shivered at the warm breath on the nape of his neck. “They have the final say in whether you stay or not.”

“Whether I stay or not? Are you going to—?”

“Plead your case,” Robb continued, and he pointed Theon towards a concrete staircase leading down into the earth itself. “Make it convincing and they won’t turn you away.”

“And if they do turn me away?”

Robb paused at the top of the stairs, his hand resting on the railing. He couldn’t seem to find an answer, though, because he gave Theon a nudge to get him moving again.

Theon shouldn’t have been surprised that there was a whole other level underground. A lot of these old pre-Plague bunkers were outfitted for protection against heavy weapons. For all the good it had done them.

He should have thought of it before the raid. Maybe he could have warned Ramsay off targeting these people altogether. No, that was silly. Ramsay could never be warned or persuaded or commanded or generally told to do anything. He did what he wanted. But he might have taken more men with him, been better armed. And then maybe Theon would still be with him, because Ramsay was always happy after a successful raid.

Once again, Theon chastised himself for being such a coward. He knew Ramsay was going to hurt him if he went back, but that was still something. He didn’t know a thing about these people. They could be cannibals for all he knew, or one of the cults that still practiced human sacrifice. Robb seemed nice enough, with his concerned eyes and his gentle smile, but maybe he was as bad as—or worse than!—Ramsay. At least with Ramsay, he had always done what he did for a purpose. Maybe this Robb could decide he didn’t need a reason to hurt Theon.

_I’ll fight him if he tries_ , Theon thought. _I’ll run_. Although the fact hadn’t escape him—he was now underground, virtually trapped.

There were doors along the way, store rooms and housing from what he could see through the glass portals. Robb opened a door at the very end of the hall, which seemed to be an invitation to enter. Theon paused at the threshold to take in the small living quarters: a cot, a desk, a low-lying bookshelf made of cinderblocks. There were books scattered on the bed and on the desk, and clothing piled in one corner.

“This is, uh, my room” Robb explained, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly when Theon turned to face him, questioning. “We’ll get you your own once we all agree to let you stay.”

“You…want me to stay in your room?” Theon eyed the cot, the way the sheets were pulled so tight the bed might have been made out of white marble. In stark contrast to the mess with the books and clothes, almost as if it were seldom used.

“I…need to keep an eye on you,” Robb said, coming up from behind. The push was not rough, but it was forceful, propelling Theon into the room on wobbly legs. Robb followed in and closed the door behind him.

Theon was on immediately edge. He swung backwards, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes always on Robb. There was a book on the desk that looked heavy enough to do some damage, and Theon lunged for it. There wasn’t a speck of dust on it as he hefted it, two-handed, over his head like a brick, ready to strike.

“Easy.” Robb set the shotgun on the ground and put his hands up. “I’m not going to hurt you. You understand my caution though, right? There are women and children here, and my first duty is to protect them.”

“As if I’d _let_ you hurt me,” Theon said through clenched teeth. “I’m not weak. _I’ll_ hurt _you_.”

“You’ve been through a lot.” Robb kicked the shotgun away with his feet so that neither of them could get to it. He still held his hands up as he nodded to the cot. “Why don’t you lie down, rest for a bit?”

That riled Theon more than anything. “ _I’ll_ decide when we fuck! _I’ll_ decide when I _let_ you fuck me.”

Robb took a step forward and Theon chucked the book at him. The redhead grunted when the tome hit his forearm as he deflected it, and Theon felt some satisfaction that, even if he hadn’t done a lot of damage, he’d at least leave a bruise there. And then Robb was on him, hands on his shoulders and forcing him onto the cot. Theon struggled because he’d never, ever been taken against his will. At least with Ramsay, he’d always allowed it to happen.

“Calm down!” Robb’s voice was gruff in his ear in a way Theon hadn’t heard until now. Hovering over him, weight pinning him by the shoulders, he made Theon feel as small as Ramsay had, even if they were more or less the same size. “I said I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled. “But I’m not going to let you hurt any of my people either. Or yourself.”

Theon squirmed.

“Whatever you think I’m going to do, I’m not. Maybe your old leader did that, but we don’t run things that way around here.”

How dare he? How dare he talk that way about Ramsay, as if Ramsay had ever…it had always been Theon’s choice, always his decision to say yes.

Above him, Robb stilled. His weight disappeared quickly, and Theon sat up. The sheets were no longer unwrinkled.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was gentle again, the way it had been a few moments ago when he’d asked about the black eye. “I wasn’t thinking just then. I guess…I didn’t mean to scare you. I was only trying to…” Theon couldn’t read his expression, as his eyes were directed at the concrete floor.

Theon scooted closer to the wall, away from his captor. Yes, that’s what this man was. His captor. He’d need to escape. When he got back to Ramsay, he’d explain everything. How he’d been kidnapped, kept in this place against his will. Ramsay would forgive him for that. He’d have to. And then Theon could rest knowing that whatever punishment he got, at least that would be it. None of this hiding, skittering in the dark.

“Do you want something to eat?”

Theon startled.

“Are you hungry?” Robb reworded. “I can get you some food.”

“Can you let me go?”

Robb lifted his eyes. “You want to go?”

“Please. I won’t tell Ramsay about any of this. That you have food and women. I won’t say a word.”

Robb swallowed. His well-defined Adam’s apple bobbed with the movement, and Theon thought he’d never seen a man look so much like a kicked dog. “Do you really want to go?”

Theon drew his knees up to his chin, like he’d done when he was a child. He wanted so badly to cry, but he wouldn’t. Hadn’t cried since his uncle had died. Crying made you weak, and he saw on a daily basis what Ramsay did to weak men.

“I know my word doesn’t mean anything to you,” Robb began slowly, “but I promise you, no one will hurt you while you’re here. If you stay, you’ll be under my protection. And…and whatever you think I want from you in return…that’s unacceptable. I don’t…I’m not that kind of man. I strive _not_ to be that kind of man.”

“You’re right,” Theon muttered. “Your word doesn’t mean anything to me. I want to go.”

Robb sighed, took several backwards steps, and bent down to retrieve the shotgun. Theon felt bile rise in his gorge, and he clenched at the sheet beneath him. Of course they weren’t going to let him go. Maybe Robb had been planning to kill him from the beginning and Theon had forced his hand, forced him to take lethal action before he actually got what he wanted out of him. And Theon didn’t for one second believe that wasn’t the reason he’d been taken in, to be used as some fuck toy.

— _Are you a fuck toy, Theon? No? Then move_! _I don’t want to fuck a doll_.—

Robb hefted the gun, pointed it at Theon, and then gestured to the door. “Go on, then. It’s not locked.”

Theon was surprised, but he uncurled himself and slunk to the door. There was no way to open the heavy door and keep his eye on the gun, so he was forced to turn his back. He waited for a bullet that never came. The door swung open on squeaky hinges and he took several steps forward. Robb followed.

“I’ll take you as far as the Wastes,” he said from behind. “But I don’t want to see you or your tribe around here again. I will shoot you, do you understand?”

Theon did understand. With a strange, dawning realization, he knew that Robb really didn’t intend to shoot him. Not if it could be helped. This was an escort. And armed escort, but he’d made mention of wanting to protect his people, so Theon guessed he couldn’t blame him for that. In fact, with an odd twinge of his heart that he couldn’t identify, he found that he wouldn’t mind being protected like these people.

Weak people needed protection.

“You’ll really let me go?”

“If you don’t want to be here, there’s no sense in keeping you.”

_I could be useful to you._

“You could shoot me.”

“I could. But I don’t want to. I don’t like killing.”

Ramsay liked killing. He liked it a lot.

“The men who died during the raid…were any of them shot by you?”

Robb pointed the shotgun at the ground. “I didn’t have any choice. They were going to hurt my people.”

“And you don’t think I am? Going to hurt your people, that is.”

“I don’t know. Are you?”

“No.”

“Then I have a choice. And so do you. You can stay here, if you want. The offer’s still open. Or you can leave, go back to your leader or strike out on your own. I’d recommend the latter, but that’s not my choice to make.”

Theon’s shoulders tensed at that. Slowly, with side-stepping motions, he wheeled around to face Robb. There was hardly two feet between them, but Robb still lifted the shotgun, as if he could get a shot in at such a close range. The muzzle of the gun nearly spanned the distance between them.

“I want to stay,” Theon said quickly to ease Robb’s twitchy trigger finger. “You said the offer’s still open.”

“It is.”

“Then I want to stay. I’ll go through whatever process you want.”

Robb continued to watch him down the scope of the gun, though surely he didn’t need it at this distance. “What made you change your mind all of a sudden?”

Theon shrugged. “You gave me a choice.”


	4. With Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments, guys.
> 
> New warnings have been tagged, but I'll reiterate them here for this chapter:  
> -Rape/dub-con  
> -Forced stripping  
> -Clothed male/nude male  
> -Brainwashing/Stockholm Syndrome  
> -Uh...Theon is 16 in this chapter, which is technically underage in some places
> 
> I hope that covers it. Let me know if I've missed anything.

Ramsay had given him a choice, too. “There’s a price for me taking you in, kid,” he whispered as they trudged back to the camp. His skin had been too warm as he leaned in close, breathing down Theon’s neck. “I think it’s pretty reasonable, though.”

They reached a huddle of tents under a rocky outcrop. The sun was setting by then, and a small fire had been started in the shelter of the boulder. The three men sitting there looked up as they approached. Theon felt them staring at him, appraising and examining. “New meat?” the ugliest of the three said.

Theon didn’t like the way he said that. It made him think of the cannibals he and his uncles sometimes came across. “We don’t steal from them,” his uncle had whispered as they ducked low, so as to go undetected. “They don’t have anything we want.”

“Looks half-starved,” said a man so thin he might have been making an ironic statement. He reached down underneath his stone chair and pulled out a can of something. Tossing it to Theon, he said, “Go ahead and eat up.”

They accepted him and Ramsay into the circle easily. The thin man—Ramsay introduced him as Skinner, the other two as Yellow Dick and Alyn—gave Theon a can opener and a bent fork. The beans inside were barely warmed, but Theon ate them like they were the last thing he would ever eat. By the time the sun disappeared below the horizon, Theon had scooted in to take advantage of the warmth, even though it irritated his sun-burnt skin.

“We’re headed back to base tomorrow,” Ramsay said, staring up at the stars. “Better get a good night’s sleep.” Yellow Dick and Alyn exchanged glances, and Skinner gave Theon an unnerving look, like he knew something. His crooked grin was sly and sardonic, but before Theon could ask what was so amusing, Ramsay clapped him on the shoulder. It stung his skin and he winced at the contact. “No extra tents. You’re with me, kid.”

And that was when Theon knew too. He wasn’t ignorant of such things, knew that people often used sex to barter. The beans in his stomach were comforting, and if this was Ramsay’s price, then so be it.

He followed him back to the largest of the tents. Ramsay made a show of holding the flap open, like a gentleman. Theon bristled at the gesture. There was no furniture inside, just a pile of blankets on the dirt ground. Ramsay strode over and sat among them, like a bird in a nest. He sat there and watched Theon through half-lidded eyes, and Theon wasn’t sure what to do. He stood and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for directions.

“Have you ever slept with a man?” Ramsay asked.

Theon shook his head.

“Have you ever slept with a woman?”

“I’ve never even seen a woman.”

“What?” Ramsay lifted one eyebrow in mock surprise. “Not even your own mother?”

“I don’t have a mother.”

“Ah, you mean you’ve never _met_ your mother. She’s dead or she ran away when you were a baby.” Ramsay chuckled. “Everyone has a mother, Theon.”

He shuddered at the use of his name. “I…I’m not sure how—”

“Start by taking off your clothes.”

Right. Though he’d never done this before, he should have at least guessed that much. He shrugged off his jacket. Heavy and solid, it still hadn’t completely protected him from the sun, and his arms were an angry red underneath. He reached for the hem of his shirt, but the way Ramsay stared at him made him stop. He shouldn’t be so self-conscious about this. His uncle had seen him naked a hundred times, and he’d seen his uncle naked a hundred times as well. But this…this was different somehow. Theon felt less like a fellow human being and more like the meat Skinner had mentioned earlier.

“Go on,” Ramsay said.

Theon let out a deep breath and pulled the shirt over his shoulders. The sleeves got caught on his arms, and he spent an embarrassing few moments trying to wriggle free. He heard Ramsay chuckle and quickly ripped the shirt, tossing it with his jacket to create a pile. His shoes came off with little fuss, and then only his pants separated his modesty from Ramsay’s hungry gaze. Theon filled his lungs with the musty air inside the tent and steadied his fingers as they went to undo the zipper and button at his waist. Once free, his pants fell and pooled on the floor, his hips too thin to keep them up on their own. He stepped out of the empty pants and kicked them into a pile with the rest of his clothes. And then he stood there, hands at his sides, waiting for Ramsay to respond.

Ramsay breathed in through his nose. His nostrils flared. His eyes had a glazed quality to them, and yet his gaze was penetrating, like he could see under Theon’s skin. Theon fought the urge to cover himself.

“You have a pretty face,” Ramsay said at last. “Once we get a little meat on your bones, you’ll have a pretty body, too.”

“T-thanks?”

“Come here.”

Theon crossed the space separating them on leaden feet. When he was an arm’s length away, Ramsay reached out, grabbed him by the waist, and pulled him down on his lap. Theon hated the noise that came out of his mouth at that and tried to muffle it by burying his face in Ramsay’s chest. He was much larger and more muscled from being well-fed. Theon felt like a child, though he hadn’t been a child for several years.

“Shh,” Ramsay cooed, one hand on Theon’s shoulder, the other stroking through his hair. He could feel the hand on his shoulder leaving a large, white print where it pressed against his skin. “Do you know how this works?”

Theon nodded. “One of us sticks our thing in the other.” He could feel his face redden even more, though he couldn’t say why. Why couldn’t he just say penis? Why did it seem so dirty to say it like that now, with this man?

He could feel the rumble of Ramsay’s chest as he chuckled again. Always chuckling, like a subdued laugh. “Well, yes. I’m going to be the one sticking you.”

“Okay,” Theon agreed, though he didn’t see where it was Ramsay’s place to just decide like that. “Are you…going to undress or what?”

He knew that would get another chuckle out of him, and he was right. The one hand stayed in his hair while the other went for the belt keeping his pants up. Ramsay fumbled, one-handed, for a few seconds, and then his other hand grabbed hold of Theon’s and gently brought it downwards to rub at his lap. Theon felt the hard flesh beneath and breathed through his teeth.

This was familiar, in a way. He had done this to himself many times before. He took hold of Ramsay’s length and gave it a few pumps. Ramsay’s groan sounded approving, so he continued. He worked the shaft to complete hardness and wondered if he needed to be hard too for this to work. He wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure he could get there at the moment.

Ramsay must have seen the doubt in his face, because he bid him to stop with a gentle tap on his knuckles. “You don’t need to do anything, Theon.” He sat upright, shifting their weight around, and in the next instant he had Theon flipped over on his back.

The blankets weren’t a wonderful protection from the ground below, and the rough wool scratched against his aching skin. He thought on that vaguely as Ramsay hovered above him, one hand stroking his face.

“I’m going to stick you now.” Why was he keeping up with that terminology? Theon wished he’d never phrased it that way, wished he’d stayed completely silent.

Ramsay pulled him closer by the hips and lifted his legs behind the knees, as easily as if he were a lifeless doll. Theon didn’t fight, though he did feel his cheeks burn again to have his hole exposed as his legs were pulled apart and flung over Ramsay’s shoulders. Why did he have to be completely bare like this when Ramsay could just shimmy his pants down to his knees and keep the rest on? It must be for the same reason that Ramsay could decide who was going to play what role.

“It’s not going to hurt,” he said, planting a kiss on the inside of Theon’s thigh. “In fact, if you relax, it’ll feel good.”

Theon swallowed and nodded, and Ramsay pressed in.

It hurt.


	5. With Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theon's still in denial and Robb's not perfect and slips up sometimes. So, warnings for comments that could be construed as victim-blaming, both internal and out.

In all, there were thirty-one people in the Winterfell Tribe: twenty-four men, three women, and three or four children—Theon didn’t know how to count the pregnant woman. Robb rattled off each and every name by heart, and Theon just sat in his chair, hands folded in his lap, nodding every so often. He hoped he wouldn’t be asked to memorize them.

He could tell they weren’t too eager to have him there. Some looked at him with pity; he could tell which ones because their gaze always lingered on his black eye. Some, like the woman from before—Ygritte, he remembered her name—were skeptical at best, downright disapproving at worst.

“You want to let him in, just like that?” she asked, hands on her hips. She was short but had obvious curves under her loose-fitting camo.

“There’d be a probation period,” Robb said sheepishly. He seemed to be the leader around here, so Theon decided he’d follow his orders and nobody else’s. “That’s our standard protocol.”

“He was trying to _steal from_ _us_ ,” she hissed, waving at Theon, still seated in his chair, still watching his hands. “Even if you didn’t find any weapons on him, he still brought armed men into the complex. Somebody _could have died_ , Robb.”

“But they didn’t,” Robb snapped back. Both he and she seemed surprised by his outburst, because they blinked at each other several times. “Nobody was seriously hurt. The raiders lost three of their own men. And in any case, Theon didn’t _want_ to do it. They _made_ him. Isn’t that right, Theon?”

Theon nodded, though he wasn’t sure that was the truth of it. Ramsay hadn’t made him do it in the sense that he’d put a gun to his head and threatened to kill him if he didn’t. Need made him do it. It wasn’t a matter of wanting to or not. When you needed something, you had to try for it. That was such a basic rule of life, he wondered, not for the first time, if this Winterfell Tribe was stupid, naïve, or both.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Robb continued in a level, placating tone. “He needs somewhere to stay right now. We can’t make him go back to the Wastes. Not tonight, at least.” He looked to Ygritte again, and now Theon wondered if _she_ were the leader. “You wouldn’t condemn a defenseless man to death, would you?”

“If he stays,” one of the older men in the group said, “he’ll be _your_ responsibility.”

“Absolutely.”

“And he’ll be staying in your room, then?” another man asked. It was a flat question, no matter how Theon tried to parse it.

“Yes. But get me an extra cot. I won’t have a guest sleeping on the ground.”

“Guest,” Ygritte scoffed. She tossed one hand into the air, a gesture of exasperation, apparently. “Fine. But he stays away from the children.”

“And the women,” the pregnant woman piped up. It had taken Theon a few minutes to figure out why she was so round in the middle, why she walked so funny. It was the strange, tender way she held her stomach that tipped him off. There was a child growing inside of her, another count to the human population. “I don’t trust him.”

“And we didn’t trust you when you first joined us,” Robb countered. He spoke more gently to her than he did with Ygritte. “He’s in the same situation you were in, running. We came to love and trust you in time, so maybe, in time, you’ll come to love and trust Theon.”

Her face reddened and she looked away, almost in shame. “I trust you, Robb. Implicitly. You know that. But…” She patted her stomach. “I didn’t have anything to lose when I first came here. Don’t you remember? I was wild, like an animal. A person who has nothing to lose…” Her eyes flickered, briefly to Theon, and it seemed in that instance as if they were connected by a thin, fragile thread. “I’m just saying…I have someone I need to protect now.”

Robb nodded. “I understand.”

A moment or two of silence. Someone coughed, someone else yawned.

“Alright, it’s settled then.” The older man stood to his feet and clapped his hands, once. “We’ll let Theon stay with us, under strict supervision until such time as he is deemed trustworthy. Does that work for you, young man?”

Theon blinked. He’d hardly been expected to be asked his opinion on the matter. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, that’s agreeable.”

“Good. Meeting adjourned, everyone.”

The members of Winterfell Tribe began to disperse. Robb clapped him on the shoulder as some of them offered last glances over their shoulders. Ygritte, in particular, didn’t seem too happy. With both her and the pregnant woman’s responses, Theon wondered if he had some sort of woman-repelling aura about him. That might explain why he’d never known his mother.

“You hungry?”

Theon nodded, and only afterwards did he realize it was true. He hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty-four hours now.

Robb led the way to the store room. “It’s locked,” he explained. “Only Jon and I have the key. Even if your—uh, even if the men you were with had gotten into the bunker, they wouldn’t have been able to get our food.”

_Not unless they killed you and took your key_ , Theon thought but didn’t say. Ramsay never would have thought of it anyway. He’d have tried to break down the door himself.

Robb reached for something in one of his many, many pockets. His pants were weighed down with all manner of things, judging by the way his belt strained to keep them up. He took out a set of keys from his left hip pocket and carded through them until he found the one he needed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you not the steal anything,” he said, almost apologetically, “but until the probation period is over, you’ll need to ask my permission to get in here. Understood?”

“Seems fair.” Theon shifted his weight, hunched his shoulders, and idly clapped his hands in the eternity it took for Robb to unlock the door.

There were rows and rows of food inside: boxed, canned, sealed, packaged. Mostly grains, but a few cheese wheels amidst everything else. A veritable mother lode. Where did they get the milk to make the cheese? Where did they get the cows to make the milk?

“That’s for special occasions,” Robb explained, walking down the aisles. The air was slightly cooler in here, a dry cold that radiated from the concrete beneath their feet. “Do you have any particular preference? Keep it within reason and I’ll fix it up for you.”

Theon stared at the nearest boxes. “Beans are fine.”

Robb turned to face him. “Beans? Really? I mean, it’s not a _special_ special occasion, but you can have something a little fancier than that.” He reached up, using the few inches he had to gather something high enough on the shelf that Theon wouldn’t have been able to get it. “How about pasta? Some nice tomato sauce on it, maybe?”

“You have tomatoes?”

“Canned, yeah. It’s not really growing season right now, but we’ve got some canned from the summer.”

Theon had only had fruits and vegetables on very rare occasions. They’d stolen some apples on a raid once; he didn’t like to think about what he’d done to pay the price for one.

“I, uh…” Theon stared at his feet. His shoes were ratty, quite a contrast to his nice pants. Ramsay had promised to get him a new pair on this raid.

— _We’ll make a corpse of someone about your size and take the shoes off of him. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Theon? Not have to walk around with your toes poking out all the time.—_

“How does this work?”

Robb had started opening the box of pasta—little cylinder shapes with groves along their edges—but he stopped and looked up at that. “How does what work? Haven’t you ever eaten pasta before?”

“I’ve had pasta!” Theon snapped. He clenched his fingers into the palms of his hands and tried to ignore the hurt look on Robb’s face at his outburst. “I mean, how are we going to do this payment thing? Do I…do I pay you or the person who grew the tomatoes?”

Robb cocked his head. “You don’t have to pay me.” Theon opened his mouth to speak, but Robb held up a hand to silence him. “I think I know what your idea of ‘paying’ is. I keep telling you, that’s not how we do things around here. No one is going to force you to have sex with them.”

“Ramsay never _forced_ me.”

“I never said that,” Robb said, although he winced, as if he could actually judge what went on between two people he didn’t even know. “Just…you’re attractive, so you might get an offer or two. I want you to know that you are absolutely not obligated to take anyone up of their offer. Not for food, not for lodging, not for anything. If you do take someone up, it’s because you _want_ to.”

Theon didn’t appreciate being talked to like a child. “So how do you want me to pay you? You don’t expect me to take it for free, I’m guessing.”

“Yes, well…we’ll put you to work.” He held up his hand again, as if to preempt any argument. “Nothing too hard a first. Cleaning the floors or something.”

“And if I don’t want to clean the floors?”

“We’ll find something else you won’t mind doing, but you need to understand. Everyone here works. We don’t raid and we don’t steal. We find our own food and supplies. We scavenge by pushing farther and farther out, so there are times when a large portion of our numbers are away on trips. But everyone works. That’s how we survive. It’s not so bad. Like I said, we’ll find something easy for you to do. That’s got to be better than ‘paying’ for food and protection, right?”

Theon really didn’t appreciate the way Robb kept implying…implying what? That Ramsay was violent? He was, but he was also a good man, a kind man when he wanted to be. That Theon needed protection? He didn’t. That Theon was weak for allowing Ramsay to take pleasure from his body in exchange for food and shelter? That was how bartering worked. Ramsay had always held up his end of the bargain, after everything was done, so what was the harm in expecting something in return? Something simple, something only Theon could give him?

He scoffed. “I’m not lazy,” he grunted at last. “You can give me something useful to do.” _I like being useful_.

Robb grinned and shook the box, rattling the contents, the way Theon sometimes had coaxed the camp dog into eating its food. “Okay, just so we’re clear, then. No using your body to ‘pay’ for anything.”

Theon held in another scoff. It seemed downright hypocritical. What difference did it make if he was scrubbing floors or passively lying there waiting for it to be over? Either way he’d be using his body.


	6. With Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings, let's see...
> 
> -Rape/dubcon  
> -Rough forced oral sex
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and if anyone sees something they think really ought to be tagged, don't hesitate to let me know.

“I’m going to teach you not to bleed.”

It was the second night with Ramsay, a full day of traveling across the Wastes to this elusive base he kept mentioning. Theon had walked with a limp all day, and Ramsay had scolded him for slowing them down. He’d also scolded him for getting blood all over their sleeping blankets and forced Theon to carry them all day.

— _Your blood, they’re yours now_.—

They’d pitched camp near an old river bed. The ground was softer here. The faint glow from the fire outside cast shapes against the canvas of the tent as Theon sat there, knees drawn to his chin, trying to keep weight off his sore bottom. He’d been listening to the soft sounds of Skinner, Yellow Dick, and Alyn talking outside by the fire, but when Ramsay spoke, he looked up.

Ramsay set his duster on the ground and pulled off the plain white t-shirt underneath in a movement considerably more fluid than Theon had attempted last night. He strode on bare feet to the pile of blankets—bloody side turned down—and sat cross-legged. He patted his lap, coaxing Theon forward.

An unspoken conversation passed between them through their eyes.

_Do we have to do this again?_

_Yes._

_But I’m so sore._

_I don’t care._

Theon crawled to Ramsay, who, like last night, maneuvered him into his lap with startling ease. Theon winced at the contact. He felt raw and torn-up, like his insides were spilling out. He couldn’t imagine it again and he clung to Ramsay, pleading through his grasping fingers.

“Shh, shh.” Ramsay ran a hand through his hair. “We won’t do it that way tonight.”

Theon shuddered in relief and let his head fall forward. “Thank you.”

“It hurt so much last night because you would not relax,” he continued, whispering into his ear. “When we get back to the base and you are all healed up—” He gave Theon a swift slap on the ass that caused him to yelp. “—I will teach you how to take my cock without bleeding. But for tonight, there are other ways.”

“Other ways?”

“Your hand.” He stroked his fingers along Theon’s hand, affectionately, reverently. “Your mouth.” He ran his thumb across Theon’s lips, the cracks there mending from two days of drinking water again. “Less pain, but less pleasure as well.”

Theon nodded, though he couldn’t imagine what they had done last night was supposed to give him any sort of pleasure. “I don’t know how. Teach me?”

Ramsay smiled.

“Do you want me to undress?”

Ramsay chuckled and leaned back on his arms. “Not tonight, Theon. Tonight, I want _you_ to undress _me_.”

Theon’s heart leapt at that. Tonight was going to be a much better night, and he lunged forward, awkwardly grappling with the zipper at Ramsay’s belt in his effort to show how grateful he was.

Ramsay put a hand on his head to steady him. “Easy, Theon, easy. Take your time.”

Theon swallowed and nodded. His fingers were trembling. He was so worried he would screw this up. He took a deep breath, shook out his shoulders, and steadied his hands as he tried again. The zipper caught, but a few tugs got it loose. The buttons at the belt-line came free of their holds easily enough when he didn’t rush.

Theon had heard that some men preferred to wear underwear, an extra layer of clothing under their day clothes. He couldn’t understand why, and he was glad Ramsay wasn’t one of those men. He’d have no idea how to deal with underwear. Instead, Ramsay was already halfway to hard as Theon slipped his fingers into the waistband of his pants and started pulling them down. Ramsay canted his hips to help, and they came off with little difficulty, first one leg and then the other. And then Ramsay was spread out, completely bare, and Theon swallowed again. There seemed to be an alarming amount of saliva building up in the back of his throat.

When he and his uncle went out on scavenging trips, Theon had sometimes admired certain men from afar, thinking this one or the other was attractive. It never went beyond thinking, of course—remembering their faces or their bodies or the way they’d moved in a certain way while he’d used his hand on himself in the privacy of his own bed.

His uncle had caught him one time, and an awkward conversation followed, a conversation with words like “completely natural” and “a boy your age.” A conversation that had left Theon more confused than ever. He was supposed to want other men? Because his uncle also always told him that it was dangerous, that the other men would want to kill them if they were ever caught. After that conversation, Theon had tried to keep away from those thoughts but hadn’t lasted more than a week.

Seeing Ramsay now, all those old memories rushed back. Ramsay was beautiful, in a way. His body was taut with hard muscles, compact around his shoulders and chest but softer in his stomach, hips, and legs— _soft_ wasn’t the right word, just not as cut-from-stone. His thighs were thick and powerful. Of course the first thing that drew the eye was his cock. Theon hadn’t had a good look at it yesterday, and now he was surprised that he wasn’t hurting more after that thing had been inside of him. It seemed an impossible fit, both in length and girth, and Theon felt an odd rush of pride. It had hurt, but he hadn’t cried out, not once.

The coarse hair was rougher than the sleek locks draped over his shoulders. It traveled upwards, tapering off into a thin line that went all the way to his navel. Theon ran his fingers gently along it, raising goosebumps as he went, until he reached the flat plain of the stomach. There were muscles under the skin, and he splayed his hand to feel them under his palm.

Ramsay was well-fed, well-groomed. Theon felt suddenly self-conscious. He was skinny and underfed, his skin burned, cracked, and peeling, whereas Ramsay’s was smooth and tanned. Theon pulled his hands back to himself.

“Are you frightened?” Ramsay sat up slightly, a smirk on his face.

“No, I…I was just…you’re so much more…”

“More…?” Ramsay coaxed.

Theon shrugged. “Just…more. More everything than me.”

The chuckling was back. Ramsay sat upright, and Theon scrambled back, afraid he’d said the wrong thing. Ramsay grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him back into his lap, though at least Theon still had his clothes on this time. And Ramsay didn’t seem to want to hurt him, because he just held him there, running his large hands up and down Theon’s sides, probably able to feel his ribs through the fabric of his shirt.

“We’ll take care of that,” Ramsay shushed. “I’ll make you more. When we get back to our base, you’ll have the finest food, the finest clothes. You’ll see what all this payment gets you.” He leaned in and breathed deeply into Theon’s hair, almost like he was smelling him. Theon was dirty, though, dirty and dusty from days in the Wastes. Why would Ramsay want to smell him? “I’m going to take care of you.”

“I don’t need anyone’s protection.”

“I didn’t say protection. I said I’m going to _take care_ of you. There is a difference.” The hands at his sides roved up his neck and into his hair again. “You’re earning this right now. You’re paying for it.” Ramsay gave a slight thrust of his hips, reminding Theon that he was waiting. He had grown to full hardness since they’d started, and now his erection was pressing insistently into Theon’s stomach.

“I’m earning it,” Theon murmured, so quietly he hoped Ramsay didn’t hear.

But Ramsay did, judging from his satisfied hum. He leaned back, tucking his hands behind his head and splaying himself out for Theon. He was leaving it up to Theon, letting him decide how he wanted to earn all of this.

Theon happily got on his hands and knees, lowering his head down to take Ramsay’s cock in his mouth. It had a musky scent to it, and it was with timid hesitance that he wrapped his lips around the tip. Ramsay leaned his head back and moaned, which encouraged Theon to take in a little more, even though the sensation was a bit unnerving. He hoped that noise meant he was doing well.

“Careful, careful with your teeth,” Ramsay hissed.

Theon did his best to shield his teeth with his lips, but he wasn’t quite sure he had the technique down. He pushed on until the prick rubbed up against the back of his throat, and then he stopped, unsure of what to do.

“Move,” Ramsay instructed, a bit tersely.

Theon pulled his head back, lips still tight around Ramsay’s length, and then pressed forward again, mimicking as best he could the motion of a hand. Ramsay seemed to like that, because he made more pleased sounds and his thighs un-tensed.

“Yes, that’s good, Theon. That’s a good start. Now…deeper.”

Theon paused on an outward bob of his head and allowed the cock to pop from his mouth with a wet squish. “Deeper? I don’t think—”

“Let me show you.” Ramsay sat up again, and Theon regretted making him move from his comfortable position. Theon lowered his head again, Ramsay leading with him a gentle hand to the back of his head. When he went as far as he could and paused, the gentle hand gripped his hair by the roots and pushed his face forward, forcing himself down Theon’s throat.

If he’d thought the cock had been hitting the back of his throat before, now he knew better. He felt the solid length slide past his tongue and slam against something that made him gag. He tried to stop himself, but it didn’t help. He wrenched free of Ramsay’s grasp and retched all over the ground. His dinner of canned spam, gone. Perhaps it was fitting, seeing as he couldn’t pay the proper price for it.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, feeling weak. His arms trembled to keep him upright.

Ramsay leaned back with a scoff. “Maybe I was expecting too much from you.”

Theon trembled even more as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d honestly expected Ramsay to come to him with some comforting words, some comforting gestures. But there was none of that in his voice now. He was displeased.

“I guess you don’t feel up to earning your keep.”

“N-no!” Theon hurried back to Ramsay’s side, throwing himself on the other man. “Please, let me try again. I can do it.”

Ramsay gave a skeptical hum, but he lowered himself to the ground and once again tucked his hands behind his head. And invitation to continue.

Theon swallowed back the remaining bile and leaned forward, eager to prove that he could do this. He took more and more of Ramsay’s still-hard cock into his mouth, forcing himself beyond what he had done before, until he could feel it hitting that place in his throat. He’d thought, since he’d already emptied his stomach, that it wouldn’t affect him again, but he began to gag almost immediately.

Ramsay’s hand was on his head again, clamping down, and Theon focused on that, would not allow himself to pull free again. “Relax your throat,” Ramsay’s voice instructed. “Stop fighting it.”

Theon tried to nod but found himself unable, what with the hand on his head and the cock in his mouth. Instead, he concentrated on his throat, tried to picture exactly where Ramsay’s cock was. God, it felt like it was halfway to his stomach; there was no way he was going to be able to take the whole thing. He breathed in through his nose, found he couldn’t really breathe, and then pictured his throat as a clenched fist. Slowly, in his mind, he unclenched that fist and at the same time felt his gagging relax. Ramsay’s cock pushed all the way in, and though the need to retch was still present, it was less urgent. He could control it now.

He knew he’d succeeded when his nose brushed against the curly hairs at Ramsay’s pelvis and when Ramsay hummed approvingly. “Very good, Theon. See, you’re perfectly capable of earning your keep.” The hand at the back of his head loosened and ran through the hair at the nape of his neck, gentle and comforting once again. “Yes, that’s it, Theon. In and out, like that. We’ll make you into something useful yet.”


	7. With Robb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb and Theon set up some boundaries.

“That cot is yours,” Robb said, pointing to the cot that had not been in his room earlier. It was pushed up against the wall, its covers pulled as tightly as those on Robb’s bed. “You sleep there. There’s all this space between us, see? You don’t have to sleep in my bed.”

“I know that,” Theon said sullenly.

“I just…wanted to make sure you knew that.” Robb collapsed heavily onto his own cot, probably the first use the thing had seen in a long time judging by the state of the covers. “I somehow get the feeling that you don’t quite believe me yet.”

Theon leaned against the wall. It felt good to have something solid to his back. “I…I am good at it, you know. Sex. It’s what I’m good at. That and stea—scavenging. I’m just trying to make use of my skills…to better serve you.”

“You don’t serve me.”

“Of course not,” Theon agreed. “I meant the Winterfell Tribe, in general.”

Robb sighed and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Theon, how long did you serve Ramsay and his tribe?”

Theon didn’t feel like arguing semantics right now, so he answered truthfully. “Three years.”

“Three years. And in that time, you…served Ramsay with sex and scavenging?”

“It’s not a bad deal, all things considered.”

“How do you figure that?”

“He could have just taken. But he gave me a choice, every time. Earn my keep or try my luck in the Wastes. If given the choice, which would you decide?”

Robb’s eyes weren’t particularly piercing like Ramsay’s had been. They were blue, just blue, but there was a quality to them, deep, like he could tell the truth of things. Theon didn’t know why that unnerved him so much. He’d told the truth, as simply as it stood. Robb shouldn’t be looking at him like that, with that look.

“Did you ever get pleasure from any of these encounters?”

“I…sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Ramsay did not see to your needs very often?”

“He…” If Theon had enjoyed any of it, it had mostly been incidental, not as a result of any attention Ramsay was paying to such things. “I wasn’t doing it for my _own_ pleasure, you know.”

Robb’s gaze wasn’t trained on Theon’s eyes, and he knew the other man was considering his black eye. “Did he ever purposely hurt you when you two had sex?”

Theon wanted to cover up his face. It wasn’t Robb’s place to judge. “Some men like it that way.”

“Some men do,” Robb agreed. “But I think it’s more important to ask if _you_ liked it that way.”

Theon didn’t answer. That was a stupid question. He didn’t like any of this. He didn’t like the way Robb said that, and he didn’t like the way Robb _looked_ at him when he said that.

“Like I said,” Theon said through gritted teeth. “Which would you have chosen: a few minutes of painful fucking or banishment in the Wastes? I bet you wouldn’t be so high and mighty then.”

Robb looked genuinely taken aback by that. He sat up, his shoulders and jaw going slightly slack, his eyes wide. His pupils touched his eyelids, Theon noticed, absurdly. His uncle had told him that’s how you knew somehow had beautiful eyes, if their pupils touched their eyelids.

“I’m just trying to get you to see why we aren’t going to be asking that of you.”

“Yeah? Well, I got the idea. Glad it’s not because you think I’m ugly or something.”

“No, no. You’re not ugly. You’re—” Robb stopped abruptly.

Theon cocked his head coyly at the blush on the redhead’s face. For the first time today, he felt like he had some real power, a little leverage to use against this man. “It’s okay,” he said softly, in the tone of voice Ramsay had liked most—submissive, inviting. “It’s okay to admit that you like what you see. There’s so little beauty left in the world, might as well enjoy what you can get.”

Robb grew even redder. “You are attractive,” he admitted. “God, you’re beautiful, okay? I’m sure you know that, though.” He threw up his hands in defeat and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how pretty you are, though. If you were the ugliest man alive or the most beautiful, I’d still treat you with the same level of respect as everyone else here at Winterfell Tribe. At least, until you gave me reason not to.”

“Oh, and what would I have to do to make you _disrespect_ me?” A horrible thought had suddenly appeared in his head. The redhead was attractive, quite stunning in his own way. There was no doubt that Theon was attracted to him on some level, the way he’d been attracted to Ramsay. And Robb wanted him as well—he’d practically said as much—but was unwilling, for some reason, to act on it. He’d cave easily enough, if Theon seduced him just right. Once Robb saw how good he was at what he did, maybe they could work out an arrangement.

“If you hurt one of my friends,” Robb said in answer to the question Theon had almost forgotten he’d asked. “I don’t like anyone hurting my friends.”

“Oh, but what if _I_ was one of your friends?”

“You already are.”

Theon blinked at that. In one swift sentence, his entire seduction strategy had been pulled out from under him. “I am? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Not really, I suppose. But you’re a part of Winterfell Tribe, and you’re as much under my protection as anyone else’s.”

That word again.

“I don’t need anyone’s _protection_!”

Theon pushed off from his place against the wall and stomped to the cot on the other end of the room, where he tore the sheets off, relishing in the way he could undo some fastidious freak’s hard work. He crawled under the blankets, pulling the heavier one up and over his head, and turned his back on Robb so that he was face-to-face with the cold, concrete wall.

There were cracks in it. Tiny, minute cracks. It meant that not even this underground bunker was as immune to damage as Robb seemed to think. Theon focused on those cracks, because it was an easy way to keep his mind from drifting back to Ramsay and what would be happening now if he hadn’t taken Robb up on his offer. As he imagined all the ways Ramsay would hurt him, he still couldn’t decide if he’d chosen correctly.

“Theon?”

Theon sighed, giving himself up as still awake.

“Do you want to have sex with me? Is that why you’re pushing this so much?”

“No,” he answered curtly, before he even had time to think about it. And in the silence that followed, he realized that was the correct answer. He didn’t want to sleep with Robb. He didn’t want to be back with Ramsay, being beaten for his failure. He just wanted to be alone, untouched except for the warm blankets he huddled under. “No,” he repeated, more genuinely. “I don’t.”

“Then you don’t need to fight me about it. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me yet, but...”

“You seem like a good guy,” Theon said. “I don’t understand it. I thought all the good guys went the way of the women after the Plague.”

“There are still women around,” Robb said. “You’ve seen them. So why can’t there be good guys too?”

“Because good guys don’t understand the rules, that’s why.” He promised himself he would not turn around. It was better to pretend he was talking to this wall. “I’m not a good guy, Robb. I’ve done what I’ve done to survive. And I have survived. And I haven’t regretted my choices. Maybe, since you’re a good guy and all, that gives you some position to judge me, but…”

“I’m sorry,” Robb said after Theon had trailed off into silence. “I didn’t mean to offend or…judge you. I was…my judgment wasn’t directed at you. I don’t think Ramsay should have treated you like that. I don’t think anyone should treat anyone like that. It’s not you, I promise.”

Theon didn’t reply.

“I won’t bring it up anymore,” Robb continued. “I’m not going to judge you anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” Theon said.

He heard the other man roll over in his bed, heard the squeaking of the cot’s mattress springs as he got comfortable. Within minutes—mere minutes!—the gentle sound of snoring filled the room. It was steady, comforting. Theon relaxed into his blankets, and when sleep finally came, he dreamed of Ramsay’s laughter.


	8. With Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:
> 
> -Physical violence  
> -Implied threats of gang rape

They reached Ramsay’s base on the third day, a single-story building that had been a center for trade and commerce before the Plague. There were still relics of things that had been sold here: mannequins, trinkets like jewelry and watches, a massive dining hall. Everything not worth carrying off was still in its place, collecting dust.

There were other men inside, men who greeted the arriving party like long-lost brothers, embracing them and slapping them on the back. Theon stood to the side, staring at the tiles on the floor and trying to figure out what sort of pattern they were supposed to make. He didn’t look up until he heard someone ask, “Is that all you picked up on your trip?”

Skinner laughed at that and punched the man who’d asked in the arm. “That’s Ramsay’s new favorite, Damon. Knew you’d be jealous. He’s prettier than you.”

“Pretty skinny,” the man called Damon scoffed, and not in the dismissive way that Ramsay scoffed. There was genuine jealousy there, and Theon wondered if this man had been Ramsay’s “old favorite.”

“Enough,” Ramsay growled, which silenced everyone. “Damon, help the others unpack our stuff. I’m showing Theon around.” He clapped a hand on Theon’s shoulder and began leading him away. “Ignore them,” he said. “You won’t have to deal with them very often.”

“I won’t?”

“On raiding parties, mostly.”

“Raiding, right,” Theon replied with a sharp nod. He’d been with his uncle on multiple raiding trips, but they’d never called them “parties.”

The noises of the other men drifted away, though Theon still thought of them as they passed emptied-out stores with bare shelves. He wondered how many of them Ramsay had…done _that_ with. Surely there were some among them—like Damon, his mind supplied—who were better at what Ramsay wanted.

“I’m going to try very hard,” he mumbled to the ground.

Ramsay lifted his brow.

“To be useful to you.”

Ramsay chuckled.

His room, quarters, whatever was located on the far end of the building, though Theon couldn’t pinpoint a cardinal direction without the sun. It was a large, two-story store, replete with all manner of furniture, sections curtained off to create rooms, appliances of dubious working quality stacked along the wall, florescent lighting glinting harshly off empty metal clothing racks.

“JCPenny,” Theon read over the door frame as they entered.

Ramsay again lifted his eyebrow, his lips tilting upwards in one corner. “You read?”

“I can. My uncle taught me.”

“You like to read?”

Theon nodded, remembering the old magazines his uncle had used to teach him with. Most were _National Geographic_ , which is how he knew what an ocean and a lion and an airplane looked like. They’d picked up some other things on their scavenging trips, magazines and newspapers with pictures and stories about the pre-Plague days. The men in the glossy magazines were prettier than any he had ever seen, clean and clean-shaven, styled hair and tailored clothes. Those glossy magazines had also shown him what women looked like.

_—He looks funny.—_

_—That’s not a “he,” Theon. That’s a “she,” a woman.—_

_—A woman? Like Mother was?—_

_—Yes, like Mother was.—_

“I’ll take you to the library some time,” Ramsay said, cutting through his reverie. “You can read what’s left on the shelf, anything my boys haven’t burned for kindling.”

The store stretched on forever, and there was always more. On the second level, up a set of jagged-looking stairs, there was the largest bed Theon had ever seen. Four poles held a canopy aloft overhead, and the sheets had a shiny look to them. Without thinking, Theon left Ramsay’s side to run his fingers along the sheets, trying to understand their material.

“Satin,” Ramsay said. “Not very warm.”

Strong hands landed on his shoulders from behind, and Ramsay’s breath ghosted in his ear as he continued.

“But you don’t really need warmth when you’ve got another body in bed with you.”

Theon clenched, unconsciously. He was still very sore, though he had managed to cover for his limp today.

“Are you cold, Theon? You’re shivering.” Ramsay chuckled, suggesting he knew the nonexistent cold had nothing to do with it. “Ah, I’ll keep you warm tonight, but you’ll have to wait until then.”

“Why me?”

He could feel Ramsay stiffen behind him. Not…not _that_ kind of stiffen, but rather the way his whole body went rigid. “What do you mean?”

“You command all those men,” Theon said, though truthfully he didn’t know how many there were. More than he had seen so far, he guessed. “You could have any one of them. You probably…” He stopped himself from finishing that sentence. “I’m not very good. All I do is…b-bleed and gag. Why do you…want me?”

Ramsay’s voice was low, like the warning growl of a dog. “Are you questioning my motives, dear Theon?” His fingers dug into Theon’s shoulder, clawing into the still-tender, still-sunburnt flesh, and Theon held back a wince.

“No,” Theon answered.

It was the right answer, but it came too late. Before Theon had even registered what had happened, he was on the floor, a sharp pain throbbing in the back of his head and his ears ringing. He rolled over to his side to see Ramsay standing over him, glaring down. He saw the next blow coming—a kick to the stomach that had him curling in on himself.

“Thinking doesn’t suit you, Theon,” he said softly, his voice out of sorts as he landed another kick to Theon’s ribs. “You shouldn’t strain yourself.” Another kick, and Theon heard something crack.

He tried to dig back in his mind, to memories of his uncle’s self-defense lessons.

— _Aim for the groin and run as soon as you get an opening._ —

Yet another kick, this time from behind, hitting him in the tailbone hard enough and close enough to his sore ass to send stars sparking behind his eyes. He gasped and writhed. Getting to his feet seemed impossible, let alone disabling Ramsay and running. He’d had two nights of meals and rest, but that was hardly any match for Ramsay’s strength. He could only squeeze his eyes shut and beg for mercy.

“I’m sorry!” he cried as a boot stomped on his shoulder, again and again, smashing him into the floor. His chin bounced off the tile and he could feel blood welling on his lip. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to question you. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

The beating stopped, but Theon continued to curl in on himself, protecting his stomach, although his ribs protested. Every breath he drew—and he was breathing quite heavily now—ripped his ribcage apart.

“That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.” Ramsay was still near, leaning down over him. Theon could feel his shadow. “You’re weak, Theon, so I suppose I can’t really blame you for not understanding why I’d want you. But I do.” He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Theon’s head up. “I’m willing to keep you, as long you’re willing to do what I say. That means not questioning me. Ever.”

Theon nodded as best he could.

“If you ever get tired of our arrangement, there’s no one to stop you leaving. You’ll probably die in the Wastes, though, and I can’t guarantee if my boys come across you again they won’t…” He left that unsaid and offered a small, one-sided shrug before dropping his hold on Theon’s hair.

Theon’s chin bounced off the tiles. There was blood on his teeth, on the inside of his lips, and now it trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“Get yourself cleaned up.” Ramsay stood and turned his head, signaling they were done here.

Theon closed his eyes in relief.

“Get into bed.”

His heart seized again. He didn’t think his body could take whatever Ramsay had planned.

But Ramsay just continued, “You need to rest up. I’ll bring you dinner. You’re still too skinny.”

Theon nodded and scrabbled to his feet, or tried to at least. He managed to get up to hands and knees, but then his ribs screamed too hard for him to stand. Something was broken; he could feel it. His throat constricted in fear. His uncle had died from an infection after breaking his leg. Theon didn’t want to die.

Ramsay didn’t offer any help and instead put his hands in his pockets and walked away. To fetch food? To debrief with his men? To get away from Theon? “You’ll heal,” he muttered. “But not if you stay on the floor like that.”

Theon struggled up to his knees, grasping at the blankets on the bed to help him up.

“Don’t forget to get yourself cleaned up,” Ramsay called over his shoulder. “I don’t want any more blood on any of the sheets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone not familiar with JCPenny, they're a mid-level department store, definitely not a place the Boltons would shop (although they do have a good selection of pink bed sheets). Ramsay's basically set up shop in a show room.


	9. With Robb

Theon didn’t know where he was when he woke up, and it took him several seconds to remember. The gray wall ahead of him could be any gray wall from any bunker he’d spent the night in during raiding trips, except the entire room was far too quiet, only the sound of someone rustling the sheets from the other end of the room.

He sighed and rolled over to see Robb making his bed, pulling the white sheets punishingly tight against the cot’s frame to create that marble-like smoothness. Theon watched, fascinated, as Robb ran his hand along the top blanket, smoothing out any nonexistent wrinkles, then, satisfied, tossed comforter over it. The thing came down slowly, like a parachute, and molded itself to the frame. Robb got to his knees, straightened the comforter so that it was exactly the same length on both sides of the bed, and then unwrinkled the wrinkle-less once again.

“I think you missed a crease.”

Robb looked at him then back to the bed.

“I’m kidding.” Theon threw back his covers and sat up to stretch. He was sore in ways he couldn’t account for, and the joints in his shoulders popped. “You like things neat, huh?”

“Just trying to give some order to an order-less world.” The words were solemn, but Robb smiled as he stood. “How’s your eye today?”

Theon reached for his eye before he could think, then remembered it was bruised. “You know, as far as injuries go, it’s really not that big of a deal. It’s not going to scar. I’ve got plenty of those. Would you like to see?” He laughed—a quiet, subdued laugh that might have been a chuckle—to show he was kidding.

Robb wasn’t smiling anymore, but he didn’t scold Theon either. Instead, he waved his hand around in a gesture that could have meant anything—come with me, get out, look here, look there. “You want a bath?”

“A bath?” Theon wiped his face and his hand came away dusty and dirty. There was dirt on his pillow as well. “Yeah, actually. That sounds good.”

“Good,” Robb repeated that last word. “Breakfast after, okay?”

Sounded good. And Robb didn’t seem to be in an arguing mood, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to room with him for a while if he stayed on this track. Although, he’d probably find some fault to scold Theon about soon enough. God knows, Ramsay had, although Ramsay was probably an amateur compared to this guy.

His luck held as Robb didn’t even say anything about the unmade bed. They left it like that, like someone had rolled in dirt before rolling in the sheets. If Robb was as compulsive about Theon’s bed as he was his own, he’d probably have the thing burned and replaced by tonight. Although, he did leave his books scattered all over the room, so maybe he didn’t mind the mess?

Theon couldn’t figure him out and tried to get a closer look by staring at him as they walked. The blue eyes were large and expressive, but they didn’t give away any hidden depths. He kept his fists curled loosely at his sides as he walked—not much tension there. He slouched slightly, but he kept his face forward at all times. He didn’t like violence, but he’d threatened to shoot Theon yesterday. And more, Theon didn’t think he’d been bluffing. He would absolutely have shot him if he’d been a real threat.

Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t expect sex— _claimed_ not to expect sex. He’d be a difficult man to figure out.

They walked along the corridor that seemed to be going deeper into the bunker, but underground it was difficult to tell the direction of anything, really. They passed more doors, doors they might have passed on their way here or brand new ones, Theon couldn’t tell. He didn’t see a label above any of these doors, so that seemed to indicate that they were new, probably living quarters for the other Winterfell Tribe members. Theon wondered if their rooms were any bigger than Robb’s. Surely the leader around here would have the biggest room, right?

They turned a corner and reached new labeled doors reading: Bath, Toilets, Gym.

“You have a gym?”

“Came with the place?” Robb made to pull on the “Bath” door handle but stopped. “You can read?”

“I like to read.”

“Me too,” Robb smiled.

“I guessed.”

Robb didn’t catch on for a moment. “Oh, all the books. Yeah…I…sometimes I can’t find it in me to put them away. Sam’s the official librarian around here, but I have my own collection. My father left them to me after he…” He stopped to look at the ground before regaining himself. “I could…loan you one…or two, if you want…”

“Will I have time for that? Or will I be too busy scrubbing floors?”

Robb scowled.

“Kidding.”

Robb pursed his lips. “Bath,” he said, as if reminding himself, and pulled the door open.

The room within was more equipped for showers, judging by the row of stalls along the far wall, each with its own showerhead. All the metal was rusted to hell, so Theon supposed he wasn’t getting a shower after all. Well, they had produce here, but he would have been truly impressed if they had running water.

Instead, there were a few large tubs in the middle of the floor, giant circular basins that looked more apt for cooking soup than bathing a human. The tiled floor underfoot was wet and somewhat chalky, and wet footprints indicated that someone—or perhaps many people—had been bathing here recently.

Robb went to the nearest tub and dipped his fingers into the water. “Still warm,” he said. “You can have that one.”

“Are the others warm?”

Robb shrugged indifferently. “It doesn’t take too long to heat them up.”

Theon peered over the edge of the tub. The metal was so dark, he couldn’t see the bottom. “There’s enough room for three…four people in here.”

“You want to share?” Robb’s face soured.

“I’m not trying to criticize you, but if you have the resources to heat up another tub and use all this water on _one_ person…”

Robb’s face went red, though Theon couldn’t read the emotion behind it. “I was only thinking of your comfort. We’d both have to be…undressed.”

“My comfort? You don’t think I have any modesty left, do you?”

“I only meant…”

“Being naked makes you think about sex,” Theon finished with a coy little grin. “Not me. You don’t need to be _naked_ to have sex, you know.”

Robb looked at his feet, seemed to be contemplating for a few seconds, before finally ripping his shirt up over his head and tossing it to a dryer part of the floor. “Fine,” he growled. “But I don’t touch you and you don’t touch me. Deal?”

“Why? What’s wrong with touching? Afraid I’ve got the Plague?”

“No, because whatever you say, touching _does_ make you think about sex. And you’re not capable of that yet.”

“Not capable?” Theon mimicked in disbelief.

“Of not being taken advantage of,” Robb said, as if this clarification was at all placating.

“Excuse me?”

“I just meant…I don’t want either of us to feel like you’re being pressured into something.”

“Shut up,” Theon said levelly. “Shut up before I change my mind.”

Robb went quiet, stared at his feet some more, and clenched and unclenched his fists. He was growing redder by the moment. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“You mean be a condescending asshole? Yeah.”

“Sorry. I just…this is something I feel strongly about.”

Theon tried to parse him again. Standing like that, with his eyes cast down to the floor, he looked so vulnerable, as if there should be cracks he cold pry apart to see what was underneath. But there was no give, no matter how hard Theon looked. And Robb was just standing there like a moron and he wasn’t quite as muscled as Ramsay but rather leaner and all taut angles and Theon suddenly wondered how different it would be to straddle those abs and compare them to Ramsay’s and…

“Whatever,” he grunted and began shrugging his own shirt off. “Let’s just bathe, okay?”

Robb nodded and began pulling at his pants, no sign of self-consciousness, although he did glance up at Theon every few seconds to gauge his reaction. Theon looked back, smiled, and let his eyes linger to show Robb that yes, he was watching, and no, he didn’t mind what he was seeing. Robb didn’t have Ramsay’s runner’s legs and his hips were narrower, but he still had a nice shape to him, overall, hard, definite lines. He made the annoying decision to cover himself with his hands, and Theon would have called him out on it if he weren’t so fascinated by what hair he could see. Yes, it was as fiery red down there as his head.

“Are you going to watch all day or are you going to strip too?” Robb grumbled, turning his back to climb into the tub and inadvertently giving Theon a nice, long, active look at his ass.

Theon sighed in mock annoyance and hitched up his shirt, pulling it off in one fluid movement. He’d learned the art of undressing since coming under Ramsay’s care, and even though Robb wasn’t watching, he was glad not to make a fool of himself by stumbling with his clothes.

He didn’t mind Robb seeing him naked. He’d been truthful about nudity not reminding him of sex. It did, of course, but it wasn’t the _only_ thing that did. He did, however, shrink a bit as Robb turned back to him and stared. Not an appraising stare, the way Ramsay would have made it feel, but rather one of fascination, curiosity, disgust. Studying, he supposed. The way one studied an interesting insect crawling along in the dirt.

“Who did that to you?” His eyebrows were furrowed in fury, but his voice held a note of awe in it. It was kind of cute.

“Who do you think?” Theon smirked. ”

Robb pressed his lips into a thin line as his eyes wandered over Theon’s bare chest. “Does it hurt?”

Theon snorted and began taking off his pants. “No.”

“Did it hurt? When he did it, I mean?”

Theon kicked off his left pant leg and stood naked on the tiled floor. Robb had covered himself, but Theon wouldn’t. Not his manhood and not his chest. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Hurt like a bitch.”


	10. With Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No explicit sexual content for this chapter, but it does include:
> 
> -Blood  
> -Threats of violence (well, more violence)  
> -Non-consensual scarification
> 
> Thanks again for reading.

Ramsay worked with a purpose that was beyond Theon. For his part, all he had to do was lie there—hands gripping the headboard, eyes trained on the ceiling—and try not to cry out. The knife made another curve and he jumped as it nicked his nipple.

“Don’t move,” Ramsay hissed, pressing down on his shoulder and pinning him to the bed. “This is delicate work.”

It didn’t feel like delicate work. It felt like barely controlled chaos, like the mauling of an animal. When Theon dared to look down the length of his own body, he saw a tattered mess of torn flesh and blood pooling in the hollow spaces of his chest and stomach. The grittiness of the tarp on his bare skin had been irritating at first, but now that he knew its purpose—ostensibly to keep the sheets from being bloodied—it hardly registered over the pain.

Another straight line, another curve. The blade lifted and began at some arbitrary spot a few inches away. Ramsay had been carving at him for a while, but inside, without the luxury of the sky to tell the passing of time, Theon couldn’t say how long he’d been lying here, gasping and biting at his lip so hard that it bled as well.

He didn’t understand what any of this had to do with sex, except that it was one of those things where he was naked and Ramsay was clothed again. Even through Ramsay’s pants, though, he could feel the hardness as he leaned in for another cut, could see the way he licked his lips as he worked. It was exciting for Ramsay, somehow.

“Don’t make that face at me,” he said. His eyes never moved from the canvass of Theon’s chest, so Theon didn’t know how he could even see what face he was making. “It’s just a bit of superficial cutting. If any cannibals got ahold of you, my little knife would feel like a lover’s kiss in comparison.”

Theon didn’t know what a lover’s kiss felt like.

“And you’re so scrawny, they’d have to cut deep to find anything they could use.” His tongue peeked out from between his lips again. “It’s a shame the way that kind of person ignores the skin, like it’s just a layer keeping all the soft stuff in. The skin is the most sensitive organ. And the most personal. All those old books talk about the eyes being the gateway to the soul and whatnot, but skin…skin is just so personal, you know.”

Theon didn’t know.

“There I go, waxing philosophical again.” Ramsay paused to wipe his brow with his forearm. He was working up a bit of a sweat as he talked, though he’d been fairly calm and composed while he was carving. “Your skin, for instance. It tells me all about you. You were clumsy as a kid, always falling and hitting your head. You’ve got a scar above your eyebrow and one on your temple. Scars on your knees and forearms, too, where you tried to catch yourself. Your father took good care of you, though.”

“Uncle,” Theon corrected.

Ramsay slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t talk.”

Theon nodded as best he could, and Ramsay sat up again. The knife seemed to cut just a little deeper after that.

“Someone took good care of you. He stitched up the cut on your shin and it healed cleanly enough that I’m guessing there wasn’t any infection.” He made one last cut then dropped the knife on the tarp down by where their ankles tangled together. “Also, your teeth are in pretty good shape, so he probably fed you fairly well.” He leaned over and reached for the cloth he’d left soaking in the shallow bowl on the nightstand. The fabric was rough against Theon’s raw skin as he began to wipe the blood away. “I’m going to take good care of you too, and we’ll have our own little marks to prove it.”

He wrung the cloth out over the bowl, letting the red seep in with the rest of the water. It would be boiled later and recycled, hopefully not for cooking. Theon didn’t like the thought of anyone, but especially himself, drinking his blood.

Ramsay crawled off his hips and swung his legs over the side of the bed, where he sat breathing heavily in what might have been exertion. He ran the damp cloth along his brow, which left a smear of red. He was still obviously hard through his pants.

Theon sat up slowly. His broken ribs protested, as well as his torn-up chest. Gritting his teeth, he was able to get upright enough to lean against the headboard and stare down at his body. Fresh blood dripped from the letters.

“You can read it, right?” Ramsay asked, sounding almost hurt when Theon didn’t immediately react. “You told me you could read.”

The lettering was sloppy and, from Theon’s perspective, upside-down, but yes, he could read it. “Transactions,” he said slowly, like he had when he was a little boy learning to mouth out words as his uncle taught him.

“You know what that means, right?” Ramsay prompted again.

“That’s like…bartering, isn’t it?”

Ramsay grinned, dropped the cloth into the bowl, and crawled back into Theon’s lap. They were nose to nose now, and he could feel the larger man’s breath on his cheek. He could also feel the hardness of his erection as it rubbed against his side, not far from his broken ribs. “It means we’re going to keep careful track of everything I do for you, and everything you do for me in return. For instance, I gave you dinner five nights ago. And you fucked me afterwards.”

He’d been so focused on Ramsay’s face close to his that he yelped in surprise when Ramsay cut into his left pectoral. When had the knife made a reappearance? It was quick this time, a single downward line. A tally mark.

“That’s one transaction complete.”

Theon gave a little sigh of relief. Just a little one. He still wasn’t sure whether Ramsay was going to want to…stick him again. He hoped not, because whether it was his mouth or the other way, it would be hell on his broken ribs.

Ramsay brushed a strand of wet hair out of Theon’s face, and Theon realized he’d been sweating as well. It had been such an effort not to make any noises while Ramsay was making his terrible tally sheet, carving over and over his letters to make them deeper, cutting beyond the skin and into the tissue beneath to leave deep scars. But he’d done it, and he could be proud of himself for that. Maybe it wasn’t your typical sort of strength, but it was strength nonetheless. Strength was rewarded; weakness was punished.

Ramsay smirked, his breath hot against Theon’s face. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got a couple more to account for, don’t we?”


	11. With Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longish chapter, as Theon starts to settle in with his new tribe. Warnings for referenced past rape and torture.

“We’ll put you to work in the greenhouse,” Robb said.

His red hair was still wet from the bath and curled at the back of his neck, just brushing his collar. Theon watched the way it left the slightest dampness on the back of his shirt as he followed behind, until they reached a set of stairs and started climbing. Then, Robb’s ass was roughly at eye level, and Theon found himself watching that instead. The way his legs moved as he climbed the stairs one step at a time. Which was ridiculous because they’d both been completely buck naked in the same tub not too long ago. Perhaps it was seeing that body in action, the muscles tensing under the fabric of his pants. It was mesmerizing.

“Are you listening?”

Theon’s head snapped up. “What?”

Robb had stopped to give him a dubious over-the-shoulder look. “I said, ‘Are you okay with that?’”

“Okay with what?”

“Working in the greenhouse.”

“Oh, I…maybe?”

Robb shook his head. “As I was saying, it’s pretty easy work, mostly detail-oriented. Gilly usually works it, but she’s had trouble lifting the buckets of water since she…” He gestured vaguely to his stomach.

“Since she what?” Theon asked.

“Well, since she’s gotten so big,” Robb finally said. It was clear he didn’t have the words to really describe what he was talking about. “Since she’s so heavily pregnant.”

Oh, so that was Gilly. Theon wished he’d just said so in the first place.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Robb paused to hold the door open. “So mostly you’ll be helping with that. I figured that would be a good place to start.”

“Not scrubbing floors?”

Robb grinned in a way that was probably mean to be mischievous but came off as just goofy. “Maybe you can work up to that.”

Was he trying to flirt? Because Theon could play that game. He returned Robb’s grin with his own coyest smile. “Bet you’d love to see me working down on my knees.” He was beginning to enjoy the way the other man blushed. Ramsay never blushed, never turned a flattering shade of red, probably because he’d been the one to teach Theon all the filthy words in his vocabulary. It was fun to see the effect he could have on another man, make him squirm and become flustered. It was fun to be the one in control for once.

“Please don’t talk like that around Gilly,” Robb said, coughing awkwardly and following Theon through the doorway.

The greenhouse was like nothing Theon had ever seen. From the outside, it wasn’t green at all, just a longhouse assembled from cloudy bits of plastic and glass panels. But once Robb opened the door, a blast of moist heat hit his face and he was almost afraid to go in. He hadn’t thought there were so many growing things left on Earth. The Wastes were home to little brown cacti and tumbleweed, but this was the closest Theon had even seen to the pictures on his _National Geographic Magazine_. Hanging plants, plants with vines, plants with flowers, plants with produce…so much green. And the air was so thick he could hardly breathe. He gasped and choked, and Robb hurried to pat his back.

“Sorry, I should have warned you about that,” he said. His hand was solid on Theon’s back and rough from calluses, even through the thin layer of cotton of Theon’s shirt. He made gentle circular motions, and while Theon couldn’t say that it was helping him breathe any easier, it was still kind of grounding.

“Who’s there?” a soft voice called, and Theon was taken aback by how un-accusing it was. Usually whenever someone asked that question, it was followed up by a, “Show yourself.” But this was a sweet question, as if the follow-up should be, “Come on in.”

Theon motioned to Robb that he was fine to continue, and they went around the corner to find the pregnant woman on her hands and knees, digging through a flatbed of green sprouts. Beads of sweat dripped off the end of her nose.

“Gilly, you’re not supposed to be doing that.” Robb hurried to her side. She tried to shoo him away, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. She was breathing heavily and very red in the face. “Here, I brought someone to help you with that.”

She glanced up, noticing Theon for the first time. Her eyebrows flew up in surprise and her hands went to her stomach. “Him?”

“He’s fine. He’ll behave himself. Won’t you, Theon?”

Theon nodded numbly.

Gilly turned back to Robb, a pleading look on her face. “I’m not sure—”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll be working the garages today, so if he _does_ try anything, I’ll be within shouting distance. And Sam, of course…”

Gilly’s brow wrinkled.

“I’ll pass that along to Sam,” Robb laughed. “The look of unerring faith on your face just now.”

“Robb, you know…” She glanced over at Theon, as if realizing he could hear everything they said. She leaned in closer and spoke more softly, but he could still make out the words. “It’s not that I don’t trust your new friend, but…the baby…”

“Will be fine,” Robb answered, his voice nowhere near as hushed as hers. “In fact, the baby will probably appreciate Theon being here. He’ll be doing all the heavy lifting while you rest and put your feet up. Besides, if he tries anything, you’ve got your revolver.”

Revolver? Theon looked her up and down. He’d become an expert on telling when someone was carrying a hidden weapon, since it was a useful skill for keeping oneself alive. She didn’t look like she was carrying a revolver. But then again, the swell of her stomach created a lot of space for hiding something.

He must have had a worried look on his face, because Robb came back over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll behave yourself, won’t you, Theon?”

He nodded quickly.

“Good. He’s all yours, Gilly. I’ll come to collect him around dinnertime.”

And with that, Robb left him alone amidst all the green plants, only a pregnant woman to keep him company.

She looked as uncomfortable as he felt, hiding her hands in her sleeves and fiddling with the hems. She gnawed at her lip and looked at the ground, then at him, briefly, then at the wall. “I’m Gilly,” she said to the wall.

“Theon,” Theon answered.

A moment of silence.

“What…do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.”

She gnawed at her bottom lip again.

“What were you doing before we came in?”

“Oh, I was just weeding out some of the sprouts.” She bent down and plucked something from the dirt. “A mold has set in, and I’ve been trying to head it off.”

Theon came up behind her. She tensed but kept talking.

“See, the little white strands.” She pinched a green stem between her fingers and held it up for him to inspect. “If you could pull out any stems you see it on, that…that would be a good place to start.”

He nodded. That didn’t seem too hard.

The dirt was wet and moist as he sank to his knees, soft. He crouched down lower and began parting the leaves, checking for the bits of white mold like she’d told him. It wasn’t too foreign a concept to him; he’d sometimes been put in charge of sorting good meat from rotted meat, the rotted stuff going to feed the dogs.

He heard Gilly groan and turned to see her sinking onto a stool. It must be hard work carrying a baby.

“You were with those men,” she stated.

He sat up to look at her. They both knew what men she was talking about. “Yes.”

They stared at each other. It wasn’t necessarily antagonistic, but there was definite mistrust from both sides.

“We killed some of them,” she said. “Were any of them your friends?”

He thought about that a moment. “Friends” was an odd term he’d never had cause to think of before. He remembered Skinner’s body being dragged away. He’d known the man, fucked the man, but did that make them friends? He shook his head. “No.”

She seemed to accept that, because there were no further questions.

He went back to work, being as thorough as he could be, though he was sure he was missing a lot. The sprouts were soft and feathery between his fingers, and extremely fragile. He winced every time he broke a healthy one and looked over his shoulder to see if Gilly had noticed. She never did. After a while, she fell in a light doze, and Theon continued plucking without looking up.

He had a small pile of mold-covered stems at his knees when she made a noise of discomfort. He turned to see her holding her stomach. Panic set in. “What’s wrong?” he asked, getting to his feet. “Is there something wrong with the baby?”

“No, no, it’s just…kicking again.” Her face contorted for a brief moment. “It usually gets cranky around lunch time.”

Theon paused where he was, a few paces from her, and stared at her stomach. There was a cranky baby in there? _Kicking_? The very idea of it set his skin on edge. “Is that…painful for you?”

“Not exactly.” She sighed and wiggled around in her chair. Then she looked up, as if noticing him for the first time. “Would you…like to feel?”

Theon startled a bit at that. “Are you sure?”

She seemed to reconsider a moment, but then she nodded. “Go ahead.”

Theon reached out with a tentative hand. Slowly, he pressed his palm to her belly, molding his fingers to the curve of it. He rested like that, waiting for the kick or whatever it was. His eyes darted up to meet hers, silently asking if this was alright, if he was doing it correctly. She smiled and gave a small nod in answer.

Then he felt it. Something moved. He drew his hand away quickly at the strange sensation.

Gilly put a hand to her mouth and giggled. “It’s not going to hurt you.”

“That’s very weird,” he noted, but went in for a second try. This time, when the tiny bump hit his palm, he kept still. It felt like something was trying to escape, like a chick trying to peck its way out of its shell. “There really _is_ something inside there,” he breathed, mind boggling at it.

This was where every human came from, where _he’d_ come from. For every person alive, there was a woman who had given birth to them. He couldn’t imagine so many women, and yet here was the proof that they had existed. Before the Plague, according to his uncle, there had been equal numbers men and women. In fact, women could have multiple children with the same man. In that world, people knew who their mothers and fathers were.

Another thought occurred to him. “Who’s the father?” For a brief moment, he wondered if it was Robb and felt sick at the thought, though he couldn’t say why.

Her face grew serious. “A man named Craster.”

“Which one is he?”

“He’s not here,” she said stiffly, and just when it seemed she would say no more, she continued, “I ran away from him. That’s how I ended up here.”

Another kick got Theon’s attention. He settled his other hand over her stomach as she spoke.

“Craster collected women. Bred them. We were his…wives.”

That was an odd word to pluralize: wives. That a man could have more than one woman as a wife was strange. “That’s selfish,” he muttered. “Hoarding women like that, clogging up the gene pool with his own genes.”

“You have no idea,” she muttered. “I wasn’t just his wife. I was his daughter.”

He looked up at her, suddenly very confused. “His…daughter?” His eyes darted back to her bump, reassessing it.

“It will be his child and his grand-child,” she said, as if reading his mind.

“Is that…?” He wasn’t sure what his question was. It just came out half-formed. “Is that why you ran away?”

“I was tired of being his slave.”

“How did you escape?”

“Mostly?” She cast her eyes down towards her stomach. “I had to get over my fear of leaving. All my life, Craster told me that he was being kind to us, feeding us and clothing us, making sure we were ‘safe.’ He said there were plenty of men out there who would treat us much worse. What he didn’t tell us was that there were plenty of men who would treat us better, too.”

Theon suddenly felt weak, and his hands slid from her stomach to come rest at his sides. “Ramsay would tell me the same thing. All the time.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Luckily, Gilly didn’t ask who Ramsay was. She probably already knew.

“It was hard, overcoming that fear of uncertainty,” she said, and now she was looking him straight in the eyes and speaking as if he understood. Which he did. They were connected in a way that was oddly intimate, and he was the first to break eye contact.

“I should get back to work. Robb wants me to work for my share.” He offered her a lopsided grin.

She nodded, seeming to understand that nothing more needed to be said in that moment.

“Robb’s a good guy,” she said. “I was lucky to have found his scouting party first.”

Theon crawled back to the sprouts and resumed his work, one ear still listening to her story.

“I was beginning to show by then, and I thought he might not…want me if he knew I was carrying another man’s child. But he…he took me in anyway. I remember lying in the tent with him and the other men, wondering when they were going to…” She gnawed at her lip. “But they never did. None of them. I could tell they wanted to. When I confronted Robb about it the next day, he said, ‘We don’t do that here.’”

“He told me the same thing.”

“They took me back with them to their headquarters…here, and gave me my own room. I think that’s when it hit me, when I got my own room that could lock from the inside and everything. I realized they didn’t want sex from me, they didn’t care who had fathered the child in my belly. They just…wanted me to be safe.”

“Huh,” Theon said as he pulled another sprout loose. “Glad to know it’s not because I’m so hideous or something. He just treats everyone that way.”

“He’s sensitive about it.” He could hear her gnawing on her lip again. “I think because of what happened to his wife.”

Theon sat up at that. “His wife?”

“Oh.” Her face had gone a bit pale when he looked over at her. “That’s not…I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I said anything.”

“No, wait, hold up. Robb has a wife?”

“ _Had_ a wife,” she said in a small voice.

He stared at her, allowing that to sink in.

“Please don’t tell him I told you. Ygritte told me in confidentiality. I still don’t know the whole story, just that…she’s gone now. And…”

He cocked his head. “And?”

“And the baby, too.”


	12. With Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your comments and kudos. Love hearing from you guys, especially now that we're moving ever so slowly towards the plot.
> 
> Today's Ramsay chapter comes with a heaping helping of warnings for:  
> -Rape (somewhat explicit)  
> -Reference to rape and murder  
> -Implied future rape and murder

“Do you know where babies come from, Theon?”

Theon stared at the ground, watching how the dust seeped into the cracks of his skin. “Baby what?”

“Baby people, of course,” Ramsay said, adding a harsh smack to Theon’s flank.

Theon squeezed his eyes closed. It was very hard to concentrate with Ramsay ramming into him from behind, not to mention he couldn’t see the other man’s face to tell if he was being serious or not. Generally it was safer to assume he was being serious. Better to look stupid than to seem insubordinate. “Women?” he hazarded.

“Very good,” Ramsay said in his very best condescending voice. “You’re a regular fountain of wisdom.”

“Sorry,” he murmured at the ground. His knees hurt from the tiny, sharp rocks digging in, but it was his hands that were beginning to go numb from holding him up. “My uncle didn’t really…”

“Don’t hurt your brain trying to think too much.” Ramsay gave a particularly brutal thrust that succeeded in blanking Theon’s mind. “You didn’t even know you had a mother until a few weeks ago, when I told you.”

Theon frowned, thinking that Ramsay had severely misunderstood the conversation that day. He knew generally that sex created babies, but only if one of the partners was a woman. That was why there were so few people left, because there could only be as many babies as there were women.

“I suppose it goes without saying that you’ve never had a woman.”

Theon tried to look over his shoulder before realizing what a terrible idea that was. “Had?”

“ _Had_ as in…well…” Ramsay pushed in again up to the hilt to demonstrate his point. Theon yelped. He didn’t bleed so much anymore, but it still stung. Especially when Ramsay didn’t feel like giving him a day or two off in between.

“N-no,” he stammered. His teeth clanked together in his jaw. “I haven’t.”

“They don’t have cocks. Instead they have another opening, down here.” A hand slid between Theon’s legs, and fingers tickled over the crease between his testicles. He felt the first faint stirring of arousal, though Ramsay had been pounding into him for ten minutes already. “It’s a slit, with a muscle inside, and it makes itself wet before you go in.” He chuckled to himself. “If you do it right, that is. That’s where babies come from. From an opening no bigger than the one I’m using right now.”

Theon felt the muscles in his arms spasming, so he focused on locking up his elbows. Ramsay wasn’t even bearing down with his full weight, and yet he felt so heavy on his back. He hoped this would be over soon and they could get to sleep. He couldn’t afford to be tired and sore for his first real raid tomorrow.

“I have pictures back at the base,” Ramsay continued. His rhythm was becoming erratic, so he must be close, thank God. “Old books and magazines. Sadly, no real pictures. No pictures of the woman I had for a while.”

“You had a woman?” Theon asked dumbly.

“Oh, yes. She was a tiny little thing, soft, and so pretty on her hands and knees. A lot like you.”

Theon’s wrists were beyond numb now, and a dull tingling was working its way up his arms.

“We picked her up the way we picked you up. Wandering around in the Wastes. Nowhere to go. Her name was Jeyne. If you ask around, some of the Boys will remember her.”

“What happened to her?”

“She ran away.” Ramsay gripped his hips in a bruising grip. He plunged in and held. Theon could feel his release and breathed a sigh of relief. The hard part was over. It took him several seconds and another thrust, but then he was pulling off of Theon with a satisfied grunt and collapsing back into the blankets.

Theon crawled on shaking hands and knees to his own blankets, where he lowered himself to the ground and rolled onto his side. He used a corner of the blanket to wipe away the excess seed that inevitably leaked out afterwards. There was no blood tonight, so it would dry clear and he could pretend it wasn’t there tomorrow.

He glanced across the tent at Ramsay’s form, still in the half-light. He usually fell asleep pretty soon afterwards. He make a new tally mark tomorrow, if this raid went well.

“It was dumb of her to run,” Theon said.

Ramsay lifted his head, as if surprised to see Theon still there.

“Jeyne. She shouldn’t have run.”

Ramsay was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Yeah, she shouldn’t have run. Then I wouldn’t have had to cut her pretty little throat open.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed that the Archive has actively been inserting typos into my chapters, so sorry if I missed any. It looks fine on the dashboard, but when I hit post... It's usually the prepositions that suffer the most.


	13. With Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:
> 
> -References to past rape and general coercion  
> -Internalized victim blaming  
> -Brief mention of...hetero...phobia? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Robb came to collect him as the light was dimming against the cloudy glass of the greenhouse. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and oil stains graced his face and arms. “So, how was work today?” he asked, mopping his brow. His skin had a fine sheen to it, more noticeable when the planes of his face moved into the light. “He didn’t give you any trouble, did he, Gilly?”

Gilly stood with a low groan, one hand bracing her back, the other holding her belly. “No,” she answered simply. “He did what I told him.”

“I knew he would.” Robb shot him a wink. Theon looked away to hide the embarrassed flush he could feel forming on his face. “How about we get some dinner?”

“I, for one, could use a big dinner.” Gilly had a waddling gate as she made her way towards the door.

Robb laid a gentle hand on her shoulder as she passed. “Why don’t you head on over to the canteen? I need a moment alone with Theon."

She nodded in understanding and closed the door behind her.

Theon was hyper-aware that he was covered in sweat and dirt. The knees of his pants were coated in both, and his hair must look a mess. So much for the bath this morning. He was as dirty as if he’d been on an overnight raid, and nearly as tired. But he’d done the work Robb wanted, so at least he’d earned his dinner.

“It’s a good look on you,” Robb noted with a nod. “Hard work, I mean.”

Theon began beating the dust from his clothes, in vain, of course. “Implying I didn’t work hard for Ramsay.”

“I didn’t mean…” Now Robb was flushing and Theon had control of the situation again. “You weren’t _working_ for Ramsay. He was _using_ you. You deserve—”

“I was joking, Robb.” He flashed a smile to show it. “I hope my work was satisfactory, because I’m starving.”

“About that…” Robb rubbed the back of his neck, looking unsure of himself. “You can eat in my room again, if you want. But if you’re up for company, we usually eat together in the canteen before the shift change.”

“You’re asking me?”

“Well, seeing as your meeting with Gilly didn’t go disastrously…”

Theon had to think about that. He usually ate with Ramsay’s men, but he wasn’t expected to socialize. They didn’t socialize with him, were not interested in anything he had to say. Which, fair enough, he wasn’t particularly interested in anything they had to say either. They would talk about him sometimes, call him “Ramsay’s whore” and “freeloader.” But the thing that made Theon most uncomfortable was Damon’s glare, ever present. It was always a look that promised terrible pain if they should ever find themselves alone together.

He’d received mistrustful looks from the Winterfell Tribe members, some even downright disdainful, but he’d yet to see _that_ look from anyone. It remained the only instance in which anyone had looked upon Theon with envy.

Theon shook the memory off and shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to meet everyone eventually.”

Robb’s face split in a wide grin. “That’s the spirit…sort of.” He made to clap Theon over the shoulder than thought better of it and let his arm fall awkwardly to his side. “You won Gilly over pretty fast. I’m sure you’ll have the others trusting you in no time.”

***

The canteen was a wide but low-ceilinged room with bench seating. It looked as though most of Winterfell’s thirty-four tribe members were present, all in different stages of dining. As a couple of men left their seats, Robb directed Theon to sit in their empty places. He did so, scooting as close to the end of the bench as he could. It wasn’t far enough to keep the man to his right—a dour-looking chap—from giving him suspicious glances every so often.

Robb returned with two steaming bowls and slid in next to Theon, forcing him to scoot even closer to the dour-looking chap. “Here you go,” he said, placing Theon’s dinner in front of him. It was a brothy soup, and bits of carrot floated to the top. It was much more extravagant than anything he’d eaten on a regular basis with Ramsay. “Dig in. And don’t be afraid of Jon. He doesn’t bite or anything.”

Theon looked over at his bench neighbor, who was still scowling at him. He was pretty, in a grim sort of way. Ramsay would have liked him. As Theon took the spoon Robb offered him, he wondered if Robb preferred his men grim as well. Jealousy wasn’t an unknown to him. Living with Ramsay, he’d always been on the lookout for a potential new “favorite,” someone who would step in and replace him.

“So, introductions.” Robb took a noisy sip straight from his bowl then set it down. “You’ve already met my brother, Jon.”

Brother. Okay, that was better. Not a threat.

“He belongs to Ygritte, the redheaded woman you met earlier, and she will rip your balls off if you try anything with him.” Robb gave him a level look. “I’m just warning you for your own good.”

Theon nodded. Brother and already taken. Duly noted.

“Down the line, we have Grenn, Pyp, Edd—Dolorous Edd, we call him—Satin, Tormund, Rodrik, Jory, Hodor…” He paused. “He doesn’t say much, but he’s stronger than any man here.”

Theon nodded along, though he wasn’t really paying attention.

“And at the end is Sam. Gilly has claim to him.”

Theon glanced down and did indeed see Gilly sitting next to a chubby young man at the end of the bench. So, that was the Sam she had so little faith in? He couldn’t say he blamed her. It was rare to see a man so soft. “But he’s not the baby’s father,” Theon stated as he dipped his spoon absently into his soup.

Robb looked at him for a moment. “Did she tell you that?”

He nodded.

“So she told you how she came to be with us?”

“She told me some things.” Theon pushed down on a carrot chunk and watched it rise to the surface again. “She said you used to have a wife.”

Robb’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “That’s not really any of her business.”

“Is that why you’re so weird about sex? Because your wife died?”

“And that’s really not any of your business either.” There was a harsh edge to his voice, the kind Ramsay had when he was in a foul mood. Theon knew not to push it any further and started eating his soup in earnest. Robb seemed more than happy to let it go, and they spent the rest of the meal not speaking with each other.

Theon was hyper-aware that he’d brought up something he shouldn’t have. Gilly had warned him, but he’d been curious. It wasn’t every day you met a man who’d had and lost a wife. He wondered what had happened to her, if Robb had had to kill her like Ramsay had killed his own wife. He couldn’t imagine Robb killing anyone for running away, though. Perhaps she’d simply gotten ill or been killed by bandits. Whatever the cause of her death, Robb didn’t want to talk about her, so Theon would just hold his tongue for now.

All this time, a part of him had wondered if Robb were actually a virgin himself. That would explain why he was so…the way he was about sex. But Gilly had confirmed that the baby they’d lost had, in fact, been Robb’s, so that couldn’t be the case. Perhaps he’d lost his virginity to the woman and the thought of normal sex didn’t appeal to him?

He finished his soup and licked the bowl clean. This was usually the time when he would appreciate the afterglow of a good meal and savor every moment before he had to return to Ramsay’s bed to pay for it. However, tonight the food was heavy in his stomach as Robb stacked their bowls and carried them to a basin filled with soapy water.

Robb bid the men and women goodnight, and they responded with general calls of, “Sleep well,” and, “See you in the morning.” None of Ramsay’s men would have said anything of the sort, but it did remind Theon of when he was very young and his uncle would kiss him on the forehead and tuck him into bed at night. A strange feeling of nostalgia welled up in his gut.

He followed Robb back to his room down in the bunkers, all in silence. Robb still wasn’t talking to him. He closed the door behind them and moved to the far corner to strip off his dirty clothes. Back turned, as if shielding himself from prying eyes. Theon sat on the edge of his cot and scuffed his shoes against the concrete floor.

“I’m sorry I brought up your wife,” he said at last.

“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

Theon bristled. “I understand what it’s like to lose someone you care about.”

Robb tossed his oil-smeared shirt in the middle of the room and began on his pants. “Do you?”

“I lost my uncle. He’s the one who died and left me with…” His hands curled into the blankets. “Ramsay.”

Robb stopped undressing and looked over his shoulder. “Your _uncle_ left you with that guy?”

“If he hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have… I was lucky Ramsay found me first. There are awful people out there in the Wastes. I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Is that why you think Ramsay was fair to you? Because he didn’t kill you?”

“A lot of people would have.”

Robb looked like he was trying to think of an argument to that, but he obviously couldn’t. Finally he settled on saying, “So, before Ramsay, you traveled with your uncle?”

“He’s the one who took care of me before.”

“Not your mother?”

“She died.”

“And no fathers?”

“I never knew my father. My mother didn’t have any men. She and her brother traveled together. My uncle said my father was a bandit, one of those warlords from out in the Wastes, like Ramsay. He wanted to make a baby in exchange for letting them go, so my mother agreed.”

It felt childish using the words his uncle had used to explain it to him. He’d thought about that story sometimes when Ramsay was grunting above him, knowing then what he had not known as a child. It made him feel a little less stupid, somehow. His mother and uncle had traded sex for survival; he was just doing his own part to survive.

Robb made him feel stupid again, like he’d been weak to allow Ramsay to do what he liked to his body. Maybe if he’d been stronger or smarter, he wouldn’t have needed to trade anything for survival. He could have just survived on his own.

He felt Robb’s gaze on him and looked up. He was dressed in a clean white shirt that fell midway to his thighs. He didn’t seem to be wearing anything else as he knelt down next to Theon’s cot. “I know it feels like I’ve been judging you,” he began. His eyes were large and earnest. “But I want you to know that it’s Ramsay’s actions I disapprove of, not yours.”

Theon found he couldn’t look away. His heart was beating painfully against his sternum. To distract himself, he tapped his fingers along his knees. They were still muddy, and dirt still clung under his nails and in the creases of his fingers. He really hadn’t done a good job of scrubbing his hands before eating. His legs ached and his back was sore from bending over all day, but his belly was full. He knew that if he asked Robb, he wouldn’t have to work there tomorrow. Robb was far too accommodating. Theon didn’t understand it.

Robb gave a weary sigh and stood. “You’re probably tired.”

“Very.”

“I’ll get you a clean pair of clothes to sleep in. If you want to give your hands another scrubbing before bed, go ahead.”

Theon looked around the room for a basin of water. There was none. “You mean…go to the bathroom…by myself? You’d allow that.”

“I trust you not to do anything stupid.” Robb looked him levelly in the eye. “I know you’re not stupid, Theon. And I’m sorry if I ever treated you like you were.”

Theon wasn’t sure he’d ever gotten an apology like that before. He’d been made to apologize, certainly, but no one had ever…for hurting his feelings. He accepted with a tiny nod and stood. “Thank you,” he murmured and made his way to the door. “I’ll try to be worthy of your trust.”


	14. With Ramsay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and blood. That is all.

“No. Please don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Not yet, you’re not.”

Theon squirmed as Ramsay dragged him by the hair. It was peak dining hours, but the din of the dining hall fell away as soon as they entered—the men stopped their eating, chatting, clattering of plates and silverware. There was hardly any sound save Theon’s pleading as he was hauled to one of the center tables. Ramsay swept the table clear of its scattered contents, displacing the men who had been eating there, and slammed Theon down hard. The air whooshed from Theon’s lungs, but he continued to plead breathlessly.

Ramsay leaned heavily over his body and wiped the tears from his cheek; it didn’t count as crying if you were too terrified to realize you were doing it. “Crying already? I haven’t even done anything yet.”

No, but he’d seen what Ramsay had done to Skinner. Beaten his face to a purple mass, kicked him so hard that he’d thrown up some vile green liquid. Left him like that, lying in a pool of his own blood and sick. That had been in the private of Skinner’s own quarters, though. Theon was terrified to think what Ramsay would do with all his men present.

“Since you’re making such a scene, I guess you already know what you did wrong.” Ramsay grabbed one of his wrists and pulled it taut against the table’s surface. He forced Theon to lay his hand flat and spread his fingers. “So go ahead, tell everyone here what you did.”

“I…I let Skinner f-fuck me,” he whimpered.

“Louder. I want you to tell everyone here what a whore you were.”

Theon swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. “I…I acted like a whore and let Skinner fuck me!”

Some of the more brazen men chuckled until Ramsay shot an ugly glare at them. “You see this!” he screamed. His voice reverberated into the high ceiling of the dining hall. “This is mine! You. Do. Not. Touch what is mine!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Hush.” Ramsay shifted his weight and Theon knew he was going for the hammer, the one he’d used to break Skinner’s nose. “You broke my trust in you, Theon. You need to be punished.” He hefted it over Theon’s hand, lining it up, still red from Skinner’s gore. Theon flinched and Ramsay pressed down harder, forcing his fingers flatter. “Take your punishment like a man.”

“You…you can’t do this.” Theon tried to put some conviction in his voice. “I’ll…I’ll never allow you to fuck me again.”

Ramsay lifted the hammer and brought it down on his fingers. Theon screamed as he felt his bones crunch into the table. “You’ll _allow_ me to fuck you whenever I want,” Ramsay said, punctuating his pause with another blow, “because you’re grateful for all that I do for you.” He smashed Theon’s hands a third time, pummeling his ring finger. Theon felt the fingernail crack in the middle, like shattered glass. “I don’t keep ingrates around.”

Theon couldn’t see around the tears in his eyes, just the speckled linoleum growing red with his blood. His fingers felt broken; he couldn’t even twitch his ring finger. “Please,” he said forcefully as Ramsay drew back for another blow. “Please stop. I _am_ grateful. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The hand with the hammer went slack by Ramsay’s side. “Are you?”

Theon nodded. His chin whacked against the table with the bobbing of his head.

“What are you going to do to make it up to me?”

“Wh-whatever you want.”

“Good.” Ramsay released Theon’s hand and took a step back.

Theon slid off the table and puddled on the ground, cradling his maimed hand. The nail on his ring finger came away in pieces, and his pinkie and ring fingers bent at an unnatural angle. They had to be broken; it hurt to move them at all.

Through bleary eyes, he saw Ramsay approach, the mud-worn boots unmistakable as they came to a halt in front of him. He blinked away the haziness and looked up at Ramsay for forgiveness.

“Get up.”

He did, rising on shaky legs. Ramsay didn’t do anything to help.

“Strip.”

He didn’t immediately obey. He looked up, first at Ramsay, then at the men. He counted twenty, about half of Ramsay’s men. All, without exception, were staring him down, curious. He looked back to Ramsay, who was impassive.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

It was difficult getting his shirt off with one hand. He felt as awkward and inexperienced as that first night in Ramsay’s tent. He managed to get it off by pulling it up over his head, turning it inside out in the process. The sleeve caught on his broken hand and he made a soft gasping noise, hopefully muffled by the shirt’s fabric. He could feel everyone’s eyes on his chest, on the crosshatches and tally marks that decorated every square inch. He huddled in on himself, feeling suddenly ashamed. There was no reason to be ashamed, he knew. The cuts were merely a record of every transaction he’d made with Ramsay; they proved that he was a hard worker and not some leech.

Ramsay tore the shirt out of his hands and tossed it to the floor. “Pants too.”

That was even harder. He managed to slip the fingers of his good hand into the waistband so he could start shimmying his pants down his legs. They were less marked than his chest, but they were still a mass of cuts and bruises. He could barely even remember a time when he hadn’t worn bruises in the exact shape of Ramsay’s fingertips on his hips. Once the pants were down over his knees, he was able to step out of them one foot at a time. Ramsay kicked them away to join his shirt and he was left with nothing but his own skin in front of twenty hungry men.

His thoughts came fast and panicked. _What’s he going to have me do? What’s he going to have_ them _do to_ me _? Is he going to make me fuck each and every one of them?_ He wouldn’t do that, would he? Unless he really wanted to drive home the lesson about fucking other men.

Ramsay grabbed his upper arm and yanked him forward into the pale light streaming in through the rafters. “Show them,” he hissed into Theon’s ear. “Let them see what they can’t have. It belongs only to me.”

He breathed a faint sigh of relief at that. It didn’t diminish the embarrassment of presenting himself before the men, but it did take away the stark terror of not knowing what Ramsay was planning. He still didn’t know what Ramsay was planning, but at least he wasn’t going to order him open his body for everyone here.

Ramsay forced him down on his knees anyway and raised the arm he was holding over Theon’s head, revealing the expanse of his chest and the faded pink lettering across his clavicle. “I know most of you fuckers can’t read,” he said, “but I thought this was clear enough to say, ‘Don’t touch my property.’” He glared down at Theon, who withered in his grasp. “And you…you have absolutely no excuse.”

“I…was hungry,” he murmured. Skinner had been the one to approach him.

_—I’d be willing to give you extra rations.—_

“ _Hungry_? I don’t feed you enough, is that it?”

Theon hung his head and studied the tiles beneath his knees. Maybe he could take this punishment like he took sex—by staring at something other than Ramsay and waiting for it to be over.

“You _are_ ungrateful,” Ramsay spat. “If you realized everything I do for you, you wouldn’t go behind my back and fuck my men.” With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his cargo pants, the one he always stored his knife in. Theon couldn’t see, but he could hear the flick of the blade and then feel the cold metal against his chest. Ramsay always kept it sharp enough to split a hair, and now he was working the thin edge of it under the pink scar tissue of the T in Transactions. Theon whimpered but didn’t try to struggle until he felt the knife sliding in further under the skin. Ramsay wasn’t just making another mark; he was trying to skin him, like an animal being prepared for supper .

He tried to pull his arm from Ramsay’s grasp, but Ramsay gave him a quick kick to the stomach that sent him collapsing to the ground. He threw his hands out to catch himself, purely on instinct. His vision exploded into white pain as he landed on his broken hand. He wasn’t allowed a moment to recuperate as he was flipped over on his back. Theon struggled, a litany of no’s and pleases falling from his mouth. Knees came to pin his hips in place, and a hand around his throat forced his head back onto the tiles.

_He’s going to kill me_ , Theon realized. _Maybe the Wastes would be better than this._

It was just a fleeting thought.

“I had hoped you’d stay still so everyone could see, but I guess they’ll just have to listen instead.” He looked over his shoulder to address his men. “Nobody leaves until I’m done here, understood? Nobody looks away, nobody plugs their ears.”

A murmuring of assent passed through the dining hall.

Ramsay turned back to the business at hand. “Since this means so little to you…” He gestured with the knife handle to the tally marks across Theon’s chest, “I’ll just strip it away and make a blank canvas.”

“No, please.” His voice was distorted in his own ears. Cracked, weak. “I promise, I won’t ever…I won’t ever do anything behind your back again. I’m grateful. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Then I trust this is a lesson that will stick.”

Ramsay began carving and Theon’s throat ripped open with the force of his scream.


	15. With Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a few questions about how old everyone is in this 'verse. Theon's 19, and Robb's probably 18 or so, so definitely younger but not as much as in canon. He met his (as of yet unnamed) wife around his book canon age, but hopefully more a timeline will start emerging in Part II.

Theon scrubbed his hands until they were pink and raw. After nearly a week of working in the greenhouse, he’d gotten better at getting into the cracks and crevices, even the places where the last two fingers of his right hand bent at an odd angle. His arms and shoulders were sore from hauling heavy buckets of water to and from, but he could feel himself growing stronger. The muscles he used to grow green things were not the muscles he’d used to please Ramsay, or even when scavenging.

He splashed water on his face and watched it drip off his chin in the cracked mirror. His hair was glossier, his eyes less sunken. He was eating two meals a day, now with the occasional vegetable he’d helped to grow from the greenhouse. It was doing odd things to his body, inside and out. He went to bed tired and satisfied and woke up with energy for a new day.

“Checking yourself out?” Robb teased as he toweled his own face off.

Theon didn’t answer.

Robb came up behind him and looked over his shoulder into the mirror. “What are you thinking about?”

“My hair. It used to be darker.”

“Darker?”

“When I was a kid. Before I met Ramsay.”

Robb seemed to understand what he meant.

“I think some of my original color is showing at the root.”

“Here, let me see.” Robb’s hand brushed gently over the back of his head, parting his hair. “Yeah, I see it. It’s just coming in. It’ll grow faster if we cut all this dead stuff off.” His fingertips ran through the brittle strands. “I’ve been known to shear a head or two. I’ll set you up tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Theon wasn’t even sure if he’d said that out loud or just mouthed it. His reflection’s lips had moved, but he hadn’t heard anything.

Robb smiled and patted his shoulder. Gently. Always gently, as if he were afraid of reopening old wounds. “I’ve got something else for you.”

They finished cleaning up for the night, but instead of heading back to Robb’s room, they went to the room several doors down. Theon followed with shuffling feet. Robb threw open the door to reveal a room with an impeccably made cot. “Ta-dah!”

“Ta-dah?” Theon repeated.

“It’s your own room.” Robb leaned back against the door, allowing Theon inside to look around. There wasn’t much to look at, though. Robb had obviously made the bed, based on how tight the sheets were. There were a few books stacked in the corner. “Reading material,” Robb said when he saw Theon eying them. “I talked with the other members of Winterfell, and we agreed that if you’re going to be staying with us permanently, you deserve to have your own space.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “You can’t stay with me forever, after all.”

“I can’t?” Theon whirled around, feeling irrationally panicked.

Robb put up his arms defensively. “I mean…who’d want to? I’m told I snore.”

“Yeah.” Theon tugged at the sleeve of his sleeping shirt. “You do…kind of.” He also talked in his sleep, but Theon didn’t mention that. He supposed the name that left Robb’s lips at night had to be his dead wife. “But…I’ve found it sort of comforting.”

Robb laughed at that.

“Thank you for the room.” Theon looked around again. Nothing new revealed itself on a second viewing. “I haven’t had a room to myself in…I don’t think I’ve ever had a room to myself. It’ll take some getting used to.”

“Well, if you ever have a bad dream, I’m basically just across the hall.” Robb jerked his thumb in the general direction of his room. “I’ll leave my door unlocked, yeah?”

“And my door will be unlocked?”

“You’ve been with us for over a week now.” Robb folded his arms and leaned heavily against the door frame, a sardonic look on his face. “Has anything you’ve seen said we lock unwilling guests in their rooms at night?”

Theon shook his head.

“This is a big deal and a lot of responsibility.” Robb looked at the door, then scowled. “I mean, the easy sort of responsibility. All you have to do is not abuse it.”

“I won’t.”

“I know you won’t. Like I said, I trust you.” Robb pushed himself from the door and stretched out his arms. The bones in his shoulders cracked, and the hem of his night shirt lifted up his thigh. Theon looked, because he couldn’t help himself, then quickly looked away. “Sleep well.”

“You…uh, you too.”

Robb closed the door behind him and Theon was left in the silence of the room. The florescent lights hummed overhead, kept alive by a generator in one of the bunkers. Theon hadn’t seen it yet, but Robb had told him that was the source of their underground light. The walls were the same concrete as Robb’s, blank with a few cracks here and there. No windows. Just a bed and some books.

Theon sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of the books. It was an enormous hardcover book and a bit wieldy to get into his lap. Since there was no title on the cover, he cracked open to the first page and read, _A Treatise of Human Nature, by David Hume_. There was a handwritten note at the bottom of the page: _Theon, I put this on top of our pile because it’s one of my favorites. A bit of a heavy read, but well worth it. Hope you enjoy. Robb._

Well, what else could he do? He propped the pillow up against the wall, settled back, and began reading. _Book I, Of the Understanding…_

 

End Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all, for reading, commenting, leaving kudos, etc.


	16. PART II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back. 
> 
> The first part of Part II is going to be aggressively Throbb. The second part...well, there will be warnings.
> 
> In addition to Sam/Gilly and Ygritte/Jon, there's a surprise pairing in this chapter that I'm not tagging because...well, it's a spoiler.

Robb threw the door open. The resounding noise of metal banging against concrete had Theon bolting up in bed, tossing the sheets off. Robb immediately felt guilty. He hadn’t meant to startle the man. He gave him a moment to see who was standing at his doorway before coming in and crouching next to the cot.

“Theon, are you okay?”

Theon blinked blearily at him. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

Robb felt his ears grow hot. “I just…heard about you and Satin.”

Theon seemed to come back to himself. A broad smile spread across his face. “Oh, that. You mean that we slept together?” He sat up on his cot. Was it Robb’s imagination, or was his expression almost dreamy? “I had the best night of my life last night, Robb. I can’t believe…I never thought it could feel so good.”

“So you’re not…hurt?”

Theon stretched out on the cot, gangly limbs spread over the sides. “I feel fantastic.”

“And you wanted it?”

“Of course.”

“But Satin said…he was the one who asked you?”

Theon nodded.

“And you knew that you didn’t have to take his offer?”

Theon rolled his head over the side of the cot, revealing the long column of his neck, purple with lip-shaped bruises. “He was very convincing. I really didn’t have any second thoughts at all. And then we were getting hot and heavy and he…” A becoming blush spread across Theon’s cheeks, but he didn’t look embarrassed at all. “He made sure I was hard the entire time, because _he_ wanted _me_ to be on the top. I’ve never _been_ on the top before, Robb. I mean, I’ve been _on top_ of other men, but I’ve never…” He broke off with a satisfied sigh.

Robb was thoroughly uncomfortable. “But how are you feeling…emotionally?”

“I want to do it again.”

“You do?” That was good. “With Satin?”

“If he’s up for it. We compared positions we knew of, and he said he knew ways to take away a lot of the discomfort.”

Robb felt the pit of his stomach give out. Because Theon was so ecstatic to learn that sex didn’t have to be all pain and discomfort. That and no other reason. What sort of man had Ramsay been that the idea of sex being not only comfortable but enjoyable was such a pleasant surprise? It was _good_ that Satin had been able to prove otherwise, but… “But you know that you don’t _have_ to, right?”

“Satin said we should wait a while.”

Good. Robb had been planning on punishing Satin for pushing Theon too soon—he’d only been here about a month! But it looked like he wouldn’t be out digging new latrines if he had the good sense to see Theon wasn’t ready to rush into anything. He’d still have to give him a firm talking-to, though perhaps not as harsh as the one he’d given Sam when he’d first shown interest in Gilly. (Sam had broken down in nervous tears and Gilly, of all people, had told Robb to stop bullying “her man.”)

Robb stood, suddenly aware that Theon wasn’t wearing his sleeping clothes and that his hair was probably rumpled from more than just a case of bedhead. “And you’re…uh, you’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m better than alright. I feel great.” He had a dazzling smile, and Robb was glad to see him happy, rather than scared or uncertain. Maybe he’d thank Satin, if he could bring himself to. “Thanks for checking, though. It’s…kinda nice to have more than one person looking out for you.”

“Everyone here looks out for each other,” Robb said. “That’s the way a tribe should work.”

Theon just nodded and let out a loud yawn. “Tell Gilly I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Robb closed the door behind him. His heart felt like it was going a mile a minute in his chest, but he couldn’t say why. Perhaps he’d worked himself into a frenzy over the prospect of someone taking advantage of Theon. True, he’d only been here a month, but so far he’d proven to be a hard worker, if a bit aloof at times. He was well and truly a member of the tribe, and Robb looked out for the members of his tribe.

He ran his hand through his hair as he made his way back upstairs. There was work to be done in the garage, and work always had a way of calming him down. In the months after Jeyne had died, he’d sometimes worked through the night, not even going to bed. Images of gears and pistons replaced blood and screaming. It was probably the only reason he was still sane, and the old junker he’d gotten working had been a godsend for scouting missions.

There was a light wind today, and it kicked up dust in his face. He threw his hand over his eyes and made his way towards the garage. He was halfway there when he heard his name being called. He looked up to see Gilly poking her head out from the greenhouse. She cupped her hands around her mouth and fairly screamed, “Is Theon getting out of bed today?”

“Wh…why would you ask?”

She shrugged. “Well, I’m guessing his night with Satin went well.”

“What?” Robb ducked out of the wind and into the protection of the greenhouse’s broad walls. “You knew about that too?”

“Satin wanted my opinion, because…well…” She gave another little shrug. “I guess because Theon and I come from somewhat similar situations. He didn’t want to make Theon…uncomfortable.” She winced as the word came out and put her hands over her stomach. She was enormously large now, at least as big as Jeyne had been when she’d…

“Are you alright?” Robb rushed to help her as she staggered forward.

“Fine, fine.” She was used to people asking her that, and she waved him off. “The baby’s getting stronger, is all. And I’m not exactly balanced right.” She cracked a thin smile. “That’s why I was hoping Theon would get his bum out of bed and help me today.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Robb forced himself to take a step back. It certainly wasn’t Gilly’s fault, but she was bringing back all kinds of terrible memories for him. “He said he’d be up.”

“Good. Saw Satin earlier. Guess the boys didn’t wear each other out too much.”

Robb laughed halfheartedly at her joke but rather felt like finding Satin again and punching him in the face. That was irrational. Satin was a good guy. He’d been in a similar situation to Theon when Jon had brought him aboard, trading sex for food and shelter as he travelled across the Wastes. But while he admitted that some of his clients had been rather rough, he maintained that most had treated him well. Theon had clearly not been treated well.

“I’m sorry,” Gilly said, bringing him back to the present. He hadn’t even realized he’d drifted off. “I shouldn’t joke when…”

“When…?” Robb prompted.

She gnawed on her lip, as she often did when she was uncertain. And she was uncertain most of the time. Like Theon, she had clearly not been treated well before Winterfell either. “Well, seeing as you fancy him and all that.”

That nearly struck Robb dumb. “I do not _fancy_ him.”

She smiled shyly. “Of course you don’t.”

“What…gives you that idea? That I fancy him?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Robb felt himself growing more and more irrational. “I don’t—I’m not—I couldn’t care less what Theon does with anyone else, as long as he’s fine with it. That’s all. That’s my only concern.” He folded his arms across his chest. “How are you and Sam doing?”

“We’re fine, but why are you changing the subject?”

“Because this one makes me uncomfortable.” And it did. He didn’t like thinking about Theon and Satin, naked together, the little cots so small that they probably had to be on top of one another to even fit at the same time. He didn’t like the thought of their sweat-soaked skin rubbing together, or their hurried panting as they raced each other to the finish. And he didn’t like the thought of Theon screaming Satin’s name.

“In that case, I won’t keep you any longer.” Gilly still had the knowing smile on her face as she disappeared back into the greenhouse and Robb cursed angrily.

“Gilly?” He banged his palm against the greenhouse door to let her knew he was still there. “Gilly, I mean it. Don’t go telling Theon that I fancy him or that I want to sleep with him or anything. I swear, if any of this conversation gets back to him—”

Something between a scream and a startled gasp interrupted him.

“Gilly?”

No immediate answer.

“Gilly!” He slammed open the door.

She was standing in a puddle of water and blood, the ends of her skirt soaking wet from it. Her face was ghostly pale as she looked up at him. “I…I think the baby’s coming.”


	17. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again so much for reading.

“You need to calm down,” Theon said, noting Robb’s untouched dinner. “Gilly’s just having a baby. It’s not like she…needs an amputation or anything.”

Robb just looked at Theon like he’d said something incredibly stupid.

“I mean, passing a baby is like passing a kidney stone, right? Only…bigger?”

“Yeah, a kidney stone that can tear your nethers apart.” Ygritte set her plate down and took her seat across from them. “Don’t you know how big a baby is?”

Theon shrugged. He’d never seen an actual baby, but pictures made it seem like they could fit in your arms.

“The longer the labor, the riskier it can be for a woman,” Ygritte continued, leaning forward. “And earlier labor can be bad for the baby. Gilly wasn’t expecting the baby to come for at least another week or two, and now she’s been in labor for twelve hours.” She began eating. “I’m not too worried, mind. Gilly’s tough and she’ll pull through. It’s Sam I’m more worried about.”

“Is it…?” Theon prodded at his mostly-empty plate. Unlike Robb, he’d worked up plenty of an appetite taking over Gilly’s duties in the greenhouse. The thought that he might be taking over permanently hadn’t even occurred to him. “Is it really something that could kill her?”

Robb slid his tray back and stood. Theon watched him storm off, but when he went to follow after, Ygritte reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. “Let him go,” she said. “Of course he’s on edge. His wife died in childbirth.”

Theon stared at her.

She seemed surprised that he seemed surprised. “I guess I thought you’d figured that out on your own.”

He shook his head.

She sighed wearily and set her fork down. “The child was stillborn. The umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck when it came out.”

“Umbilical cord?”

Her eyes widened. “You really _don’t_ know a thing about babies, do you?”

Ramsay had made fun of him for not knowing anything too.

“What happened to Robb’s wife?”

“The doctor couldn’t stop her bleeding and she died several hours later, in Robb’s arms.”

“Do you think the same thing could happen to Gilly?”

Ygritte shrugged. “It could, but like I said, Gilly’s strong. I doubt it. Then again, these sorts of issues were fairly rare in the pre-Plague days, when there was fancy hospitals for keeping people healthy.” She returned to eating, picking at her hunk of cornbread. “Don’t tell Robb I told you anything about his wife.”

“Gilly said the same thing to me when I first got here.”

“He blames himself. He thinks that if he hadn’t put that baby in her, she wouldn’t have died.”

Theon didn’t know what to say to that.

“Wasn’t his fault, of course,” Ygritte went on through a mouthful of bread. “Unlike Gilly, Jeyne knew what she was getting into. She wanted that baby just as much as Robb did, if not more. She wouldn’t want him blaming himself.”

“Jeyne?”

“His wife, yeah.”

That was an uncanny coincidence. Ramsay’s wife had also been named Jeyne. It seemed odd to him that there were enough women left in the world that two should share the same name. And that both women should come to horrible ends.

“You gonna eat that?” Ygritte asked.

Theon shoved his plate over to her in a help-yourself motion. “I’ve got to find Robb.”

“Let him be,” Ygritte insisted, though she didn’t try to stop him this time. She just gave him a warning look before turning back to her extra rations.

Theon left the canteen. He checked the infirmary first, where he could hear Gilly’s panting and occasional screaming from behind the door. She was still alive, at least, but it didn’t look like Robb was there. He might have gone to his room to sulk, but there was another option.

Theon’s instincts proved correct when he found Robb in the garage, working by lantern light in the near darkness. He was twisting his pipe wrench back and forth so hectically that it made a loud banging sound every time it struck the old truck’s side. He didn’t even hear Theon approach.

“Gilly’s still going strong,” Theon said, startling Robb enough to make him drop his wrench.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people while they’re handling tools.” Rob clutched at his chest.

“Sorry. I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Yeah, well…” Robb stooped to pick up his wrench, but he didn’t go back to his work. He stood there, contemplating it. “I’ll sigh a breath of relief when both she and the baby are out of danger.”

Theon nodded. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Which is why I wanted to ask you something.”

Robb looked up.

“When Gilly’s feeling better, she probably won’t be needing as much help in the greenhouse.”

“Probably not,” Robb agreed, “but she’ll still need some. Taking care of a baby is hard work…or so I’m told.”

Theon let that hang in the air for a moment. There were so many things he could have meant by that. “I was wondering if you’d let me take on more work.”

“Sure,” Robb answered. “If you’re ready for it. What do you want to do?”

Theon nodded towards the truck. It was a beat-up old thing, more rust than metal, but Robb had apparently gotten more hopeless projects to work in the past. “I want to go out on scouting missions.”

“You do?” Robb blinked in surprise.

“I’m good at scavenging, and my uncle taught me how to fire a rifle. I’m a pretty good shot.” At least, he hoped he still was. Ramsay had never given him weapons on their raids, so he hadn’t fired in a while.

“You want me to put a weapon in your hands?”

“I want to be useful to you.”

Robb stood there, contemplating the wrench in his hands. He sighed and let his arms fall heavily to his sides. The hand with the wrench swung back and forth like a pendulum. “Let’s see how Gilly fares, alright? Once she’s on her feet again, we’ll talk. But I want to make sure you know how to use a gun properly, so you’ll have to let me teach you.”

It was better than Theon had even hoped for, and Robb was acknowledging a future where Gilly was fully recovered. His eyes were still sad, though. “You know—” Theon didn’t know what he was going to say—probably overshare what he knew about Robb’s wife, at least—but he was spared by a loud knocking on the corrugated siding of the garage.

It was Jon. And he was smiling. Theon didn’t think he’d ever seen Jon smile.

“The baby’s born,” he said. “It’s a boy.”

“And Gilly?”

“Doing fine. Resting.”

Robb ran forward and wrapped his arms around Jon. The brothers embraced and laughed with each other for a moment, then Robb broke away and did the same with Theon. It was almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it. His arms came around Theon’s shoulders and they were chest to chest, rocking back and forth in a self-comforting sort of joy. Theon was happy that Gilly and her baby were alright, but he hadn’t expected _this_ reaction.

He was even more startled when Robb went in for the kiss. His eyes weren’t even open as he pressed their lips together.

He’d never been kissed like this before. With Ramsay, it had been all biting and bruising, a show of possession and dominance. With Satin, it had been sweet and gentle, meant to titillate and arouse. But this…he’d never been kissed passionately, like the other person needed him. Robb was moving his lips like he _needed_ Theon, like he needed to be closer than close. It was a bit rough, but not exactly forceful. Robb’s lips were dry, but Theon supposed his were too. It wasn’t thoughtful and delicate like Satin’s kisses had been, but it still stirred him. He felt himself begin to harden, and he realized _he_ needed to be closer than close as well. He parted his mouth to let Robb slip his tongue in, and that was when Robb suddenly went stiff and pulled back.

There was a look of self-aware horror on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—that was horribly inappropriate of me. I—I didn’t mean to force myself on you. I just got caught up in the moment.” He took a step back and held out his hands, as if showing he was unarmed. “Is there—is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Theon grabbed him and pulled him back so they were nose to nose. “Please, keep going.”

“I…no, I didn’t mean—”

Theon went in for another kiss. Both of their lips were wetter now, softer. Their tongues mingled, Robb’s now tentative, uncertain. Theon moaned into Robb’s mouth and only pulled away when he felt himself getting lightheaded with the need to breathe. “You asked me when I first got here if I wanted to have sex with you. I wasn’t ready then.” He leaned in even closer and gently nipped Robb’s ear. He could feel the warmth of his own breath on Robb’s skin as he whispered, “I’m ready now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on _A Stark and Endless Waste_ : Bow-chika-wow-wow


	18. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The follow chapter contains:  
> -Explicit (if poorly written) sexual content  
> -Oral sex  
> -Anal sex
> 
> I debated for a while whether Robb was going to show Theon that sex doesn't require penetration or if he was just going to go all the way to one-up Satin. Hope I chose right, even if it is a little unrealistic.

When Robb came back into his room, it was to the view of Theon spread out of his cot, completely naked, completely eager judging from the state of his arousal and the cheeky grin on his face. “Took you long enough.”

Robb felt himself blush. “I was…getting ready.” He stripped quickly—he was only wearing pants—and came to join Theon on the bed, crawling on hands and knees up the length of Theon’s body. When they were face to face, he planted another kiss on his lips. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Theon groaned and bucked his hips into Robb’s, demonstrating how hard he was. “I was beginning to think I’d have to get myself off.”

“I’m here now.” He began kissing along Theon’s jawline, down his neck. He tensed a bit when he came to one of Satin’s purple love bites, thinking it had not been the boy’s place to leave bruises. They would heal, though, unlike the teeth marks littering Theon’s shoulders, which Robb dutifully traced over with his lips, as if he could take back all of Theon’s pain and suffering at the hands of Ramsay. “Please tell me if you start to get uncomfortable,” he murmured.

Theon said nothing but tangled his fingers in Robb’s hair as he worked his way down, a silent agreement that yes, this was okay, keep going.

Robb reached the patchwork that was Theon’s chest. Someone had cut away strips of his flesh, on more than one occasion, it seemed, based on the varying colors and thickness of the skin that had grown back. As he pressed his lips to these, he could feel ridges beneath, where someone had cut through muscle and perhaps even bone with a sharp knife. There was some word carved across Theon’s clavicle, but he didn’t want to know what it had been. Whatever Ramsay had labeled him was gone now. Robb wished he could erase it with the laving of his tongue, but he knew the scars weren’t all on Theon’s outside.

“Are you okay? Is this okay?”

Theon’s voice hitched as he responded, “Please don’t stop.”

So Robb continued.

The plane of Theon’s stomach was flat, and Robb could still make out his ribs with the tips of his fingers. There were marks here as well—cuts and welts and gouges. It looked like Ramsay had taken a belt to his back more than once, because there were rough and perfectly straight scars wrapping around Theon’s sides and onto his hips. Robb kissed these as well.

He nuzzled into Theon’s inner thigh. The skin here was soft, if pocked with old cigarette burns. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

“Are you going to suck my dick like Satin did or not?”

Robb glanced up with a scowl. “Could you not talk about Satin?”

“Could _you_ not talk about Ramsay?”

“Fair enough.” To apologize for his thoughtlessness, Robb gave the underside of Theon’s cock a slow lick.

The noise that came out of Theon’s throat was pained, but his cry of, “Oh, God!” told Robb to keep going.

Robb hadn’t done this in a while. He hadn’t been with anyone since Jeyne, and he hadn’t been with a man since before he’d met her. He did have some experience, though, which he tried to remember as he took Theon into his mouth. He couldn’t take him all in one go, but Theon didn’t seem to mind. His hands clasped the sheets under him and his back arched so much that Robb had to put his hands on Theon’s hips to keep him in place.

“Feel good?”

Theon whimpered an affirmative and tightened his hold on Robb’s head as if to say, “Why are you using your mouth for _talking_?”

Robb chuckled and went back to work. Theon was quite big, surprisingly big, and as Robb tried to vain to take him to the root, he thought what a shame it was that Theon had never had a chance to “be on top” before. Since he couldn’t fit all of it in, he worked instead on varying the pressure of his lips around the shaft and using his hands where his mouth couldn’t reach.

Theon threw his head back into the pillow and squirmed. The low, throaty moans coming from his mouth went straight to Robb’s cock, and he found himself at peak hardness as Theon came in his mouth. There must be some trick to swallowing it all, but Robb had forgotten it and ended with half of Theon’s seed dribbling out of his mouth and onto the sheets. No big deal, besides the embarrassment of it. It was Satin’s week to do laundry anyway.

Theon went limp on the cot, panting, staring straight up at the ceiling. Robb crawled back up and gave him and open-mouthed kiss.

“Ramsay said it was dirty to kiss after sucking cock,” Theon said.

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about Ramsay.”

Theon nodded and pulled Robb in for another kiss. Robb was surprised and thrilled when Theon slipped his tongue inside. It showed confidence and comfort, and Robb felt more comfortable himself, wrapping his arms around Theon’s shoulders as they settled in side by side, chest to chest.

Theon reached down between them and grasped Robb’s hardness. “Don’t get too comfortable. I’ve got to take care of you, too.”

Robb shook his head. “I can take care of myself. I want to make you feel good.”

“Are you sure you won’t let me…?” He gave a few pumps, and Robb bit his lip.

“If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to hold out.”

“What are you waiting for?”

Robb grabbed his hand and pried it off. “I’m waiting for you to get hard again. Think you can?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He grinned toothily. “What are you going to do then?”

“I’m going to ride you.”

Theon’s smiled melted away.

“What’s the matter?” Robb propped himself up on his elbows. “We don’t have to if you don’t want.”

Theon was still for a moment. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Robb hadn’t been expecting that. “You won’t.”

“It was different with Satin.” Theon half-turned onto his side, exposing the crisscrossing mass of scars on his back, the ugly burn mark at the base of his spine. “Satin’s like me. He’s used to taking cock. He…showed me some exercises to help…tighten myself up again.” He buried his face into the pillow and his next words were muffled. “That’s not something I want for you, Robb. I don’t want to hurt you just to make myself feel good for a few minutes.”

“Hey, hey, shh.” As gently as he could, Robb flipped him over so they were eye to eye again. “I know it’s been a while, but I’ve been known to take a cock or two myself.”

“How can you even want to?” A film of water had settled over his eyes, making his irises swim. “How can it…not hurt for you?”

“It doesn’t have to hurt. I quite enjoyed it when I used to get that far with a boy.” No matter how hard or how long Robb smiled, he could not coax Theon to do the same. Finally he sat up. “You won’t hurt me, I promise. Look, I’ll show you.” He had to throw his legs over Theon’s body to climb off the bed, and Theon momentarily went rigid in the brief second he was pinned. Robb scrambled off quickly. “Sorry, sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Theon insisted in a small voice. There was plenty of confusion there, and Robb heard the rustling of sheets as he sat up to get a better look at what Robb was doing.

Robb went to his desk and braced himself against the back of the chair. He spread his legs and bent forward at the waist. With his back turned to Theon, he couldn’t be sure the other man was watching, but he hoped so as he brought his fingers to the crease of his ass. “Remember when I said I was getting ready?” He slid three fingers in, proud that he’d managed to work himself loose after years of not doing it. A bit of grease helped, too, a tip Robb was not willing to admit he’d picked up from Satin. It was still a bit of a tight fit, but he could scissor his fingers without much pain, which he did now. Gods, it really had been a long time.

Theon was silent on the bed, and Robb finally had to turn around to see his reaction. He was sitting up, back to the wall, cock twitching back to life. He was so skinny that Robb could tell how hard he was breathing from the way his ribcage expanded.

“See?” Robb took his hand back out. “I’m fine.”

Theon’s pupils were blown wide. “You…really want to take my cock?”

“At the moment—” Robb hurried back to the bed and crawled into Theon lap. “—nothing would make me happier. But only if it would make _you_ happy too.”

“I…I’m willing to try.” Theon let Robb guide him back to his lying down position. “But you have to tell me if I’m hurting you. I don’t—”

Robb cut off his protest with another kiss as he straddled Theon’s hips. He reached between them and gave a few long, languid pulls on Theon’s erection. It didn’t take much time to get him fully hard, something Robb chalked up to the fact that, even if Theon wasn’t new to sex, he was new to the idea of getting off.

“Don’t worry about me,” he whispered into Theon’s ear as he lined himself up. “I’ll let you know, alright?”

Theon gave a tiny nod.

Robb turned his head to spit into his hand, which would help ease the way, a little. Nonetheless, he went slowly. He’d missed this aspect of sex, he realized as the blunt tip entered—the penetration. It burned in a way that was uncomfortable at first, but as it went deeper, he began to crave the stretch of it, the way it seemed to fill every inch of him. He let out a throaty moan, mostly for show, mostly to let Theon know he was doing well.

For the first part, until Robb was fully seated, Theon just lay there, watching him. Robb grabbed his hands and placed them on his waist. “Help me keep a rhythm,” he said. “I’m a bit out of practice.”

When he began moving, Theon tightened his grip. He wasn’t much help, but Robb was glad he was participating. He’d forgotten how difficult it was to lift yourself up and bring yourself back down at the same steady pace. It required a type of leg strength he didn’t quite have. Like the blowjob, though, Theon didn’t seem to mind. His eyes rolled back in his head and his jaw clenched. It certainly wasn’t sexy, but it was adorable, seeing him so overcome with pleasure that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Does it feel good?”

“God,” Theon whined. “It feels fucking amazing. How are—?”

“Fucking amazing,” Robb answered his half-spoken question. And it did. He was still looking for that spot inside that would cause him to go dizzy, but for now he would just enjoy the feeling of Theon deep inside him.

Theon squeezed his eyes shut. He was close. Given time, he’d learn to hold out longer.

Robb hoped he’d be the one to teach him.

They came fairly close together. Robb went first, pushed over the edge by a stroke from Theon’s clever hands. When he came back down from his orgasm, Theon had spilled inside of him.

Theon looked utterly exhausted, so Robb dismounted and began wiping them down with the bed sheet. The cot truly was a mess now, but Robb didn’t mind. When two people shared a bed, it got messy. Only lonely beds were tidy.

He rejoined Theon, pressing himself against the wall so Theon wouldn’t feel so penned in as they slept. They were covered in sweat and seed and Robb felt sore and split open, but it was all fine. He brushed a strand of sweaty hair from Theon’s face, marveled at the afterglow in his eyes.

“I didn’t hurt you?”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Robb kissed first one eyelid, then the other. It was something he’d done with Jeyne before going to sleep at night. “And if you’ll let me, I’d like to make you feel ‘fucking amazing’ again.”

_Tomorrow night. Every night._


	19. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings. This is the last of the breather chapters.

Five cans lined up along five fence posts.

Six shots.

The first four went with a single shot, but the fifth required an extra bullet before it went flying back with the others. Theon let the hot gun barrel point to the ground and turned to face Robb with a not-so-subtle grin.

Robb and the rest of the crew were either sitting in or leaning against the rusted-out truck. Grenn and Pyp began applauding, while Jory nodded in faint approval, though his eyes remained trained on the gun. They were all of them armed and could put a bullet between Theon’s eyes before he could even swing the rifle around to take one of them out. Theon appreciated that they didn’t flaunt the fact.

“Okay, you’re a pretty good shot,” Robb said, hands in his pockets.

“Pretty good?” Dolorous Edd said. “If he’d had a gun on him when we’d found him, there’s no doubt we’d have had casualties on our side.”

Grenn and Pyp stopped clapping and an awkward silence fell over them. It was quiet this far out in the desert, far away from the other tribe members. The wind rattled the fallen cans.

“Why didn’t Ramsay give you a gun?” Robb finally asked.

“Why do you think?” Theon slipped the rifle’s strap from around his head. “He didn’t trust me with one.”

“He thought you’d turn on him?” Jory said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

How to explain to them? Ramsay didn’t think Theon would turn on him; he _knew_ he wouldn’t. He knew that whenever the thought crossed Theon’s mind, it was gone just as quickly. “He thought I was weak,” he grunted, handing the rifle back to Robb. Once the weapon was out of his hands, the atmosphere became a bit more relaxed.

“For what it’s worth,” Pyp volunteered, “ _I’m_ afraid of you with a gun.”

Robb shot him a scolding look, but Theon pondered his words as they drove back to the base. He couldn’t think of a time when anybody had been afraid of him before. It made him feel powerful, but not in a good way. He didn’t want people to be afraid of him. Or, more specifically, he didn’t want his new friends to be afraid of him—Robb, Satin, Gilly and her baby… He wanted his friends’ _enemies_ to be afraid of him. He wanted them to see him looking down a gun barrel at them and know they’d chosen the wrong people to mess with.

The truck kicked up a cloud of dirt as it went. It was a terrible vehicle for stealth missions, but it could take them farther into the Wastes and get them back faster. Ramsay would have killed, literally, to have a machine like this at his disposal.

They rumbled back into base and were greeted by Gilly and Baby Sam. Theon got the distinct impression she was hoping he’d failed his test so that he would have to stay on and help her in the greenhouse. She smiled as the men unloaded from the back of the truck, seeing as nobody had any bullets in them. She hitched Baby Sam higher onto her shoulder. “How did it go?”

“Really well.” Robb hopped out of the driver’s seat. “Theon’s a great shot. We’ll have to take him along on our next scouting mission.”

Gilly’s face fell just a fraction, but she quickly plastered her smile back. “I’m glad for you, Theon,” she said genuinely. “It’ll be far more fun for you to be out and exploring instead of hanging around a stuffy shed all day. As for me—” She patted Sam’s back as he began to squirm. “I think I’ve seen enough of the outside world.”

Theon could understand her position, but two months of bunker living had made him ready for the outside world again. Besides, it wasn’t necessarily the outside world that was dangerous, but rather the people in it.

They began back towards the canteen, the men clapping each other on the shoulder and Gilly trying to get Sam to stop fussing. Theon hung back and watched them. In some ways, the comradery between the men was very similar to what he’d seen at Ramsay’s camp—roughhousing, overly loud laughing, joking. He kept searching for the underlying tension, for the moment the good-natured laughing would turn into a threat and then the threat to turn into violence. It never did, and he supposed he should know better by now. These weren’t Ramsay’s men. They didn’t settle arguments by wrestling until one man was able to pin another and fuck him into submission.

Not that Theon was ever a part of that. Ramsay had shielded him, knowing full well how Theon was too weak to defend himself.

As he followed behind the Winterfell Tribe members, he studied his hands, remembering the feel of the rifle, the coil in his elbows as he held it. Ramsay had been wrong about a lot of things. Sometimes even deliberately wrong. Theon wasn’t sure if he was as strong as, say, Robb, but he knew that if the choice came down to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in the head on anyone who threatened his new family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might want to stop reading here if you want to pretend they all live happily ever after and Robb and Theon have mind-blowing sex every night and nothing is ever bad ever again. Next chapter starts moving into the *plot* and things are gradually going to get worse over the next ten chapters or so. Yay conflict.


	20. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings as of it. We're starting a slow burn into plot.

They set out seven days later, five men and the supplies they would need loaded into the old truck that was Robb’s pride and joy. “It’s just a small scouting mission,” Robb explained to Theon as he kept shifting the gears. Theon was happy to sit up front with him while Jon, Grenn, and Pyp were relegated to the truck bed. “We’re going to start you out easy, and it just so happens that we need to check one of our nearby hotspots. Well, relatively near. It takes half a day to drive there but the better part of a week to walk.”

Theon watched out the window as the dry landscape clipped along. There was a childlike wonder on his face, even though there wasn’t really anything to see besides the lifeless, featureless desert.

Everything was pretty flat, but there wasn’t exactly a road for them to follow. Every so often Robb inadvertently hit a rock that shook the whole frame back and forth. One such bump had Grenn cursing in the back and knocking on the window to take it easy. Robb shot an apologetic look over his shoulder. “Hopefully we’ll pick up something on this run so I can start fixing the shock absorbers.”

“Where are we going?” Theon asked, still looking out the window. “What’s this ‘hotspot’?”

“Just a small town we came across a few years ago.” Robb tried to keep both hands on the steering wheel and both eyes straight ahead, occasionally flickering to the rearview mirror to check behind. “Hit so hard by the Plague that no one survived. Or if they did, they left in a hurry. Most of the food’s been carried off, but occasionally we find things we’ve missed. Not to mention, there’s a grove there. If something’s taken root in the time since we’ve been there last, even if someone has eaten all the fruit off it, we can still dig it up and bring it back with us, transplant it in the greenhouse.”

Theon was silent for a moment. “Do you ever run into any other…tribes?”

Robb, hands still on the wheel, shrugged. “Occasionally. We’re a small band today, so if we run into anyone else, we’re going to keep low, alright?” He side-eyed Theon. “It’s not worth starting a firefight over, especially if there’s a chance we could be outnumbered.” His eyes shifted back to the rearview mirror. “Understand? If I tell you to stand down, you stand down. No questions.”

Theon nodded. “I’m pretty good at not asking questions.”

They drove until the sun was high in the sky. The men in the back had set up a tarp to keep off the worst of the sun, while Robb and Theon flipped down the truck’s visors and rolled down the windows. Theon stuck his head out and let the wind blow through his hair, eyes closed against the dirt and debris kicked up from the truck’s tires.

Robb kept his eyes peeled for the marker. It was deliberately hidden so most people would miss it, but he spotted it—an X-shaped scratch carved on the face of a large rock. Just before they passed it, he turned the wheel hand over hand, bringing the truck into a gentle curve so as not to leave tire tracks. The car rumbled onwards, now perpendicular to the sun’s beginning descent.

Theon pulled his head back into the cabin and shook the dust from his hair. As he did so, his elbow hit one of the buttons on the dashboard. Lights on the radio flickered half-heartedly and a tinny voice said, “Warning: You are now entering a quarantined area. Proceed at your own risk. Warning: You are now entering a quar—”

Robb flicked the radio off. He wasn’t too concerned about attracting attention—the sound of approaching tires would be enough to give them away to passing tribes—but he hated the sound of that voice echoing out from the past. “The only station that comes in, and it’s been playing that message for the last seventy years.”

“So, there’s nobody actually out there?”

Robb shook his head. He didn’t like thinking about it, about the woman who had recorded that message. If she’d somehow survived the Plague, she was most certainly dead by now. He tried to reassure Theon anyway. “The bodies they left behind aren’t contagious anymore, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

Theon gave a mirthless chuckle at that. “Kind of funny though.”

Robb glanced over at him. “How so?”

“The Plague kills one in five men. And there are five of us.”

Robb automatically looked in the rearview mirror. He could see the heads of Jon, Grenn, and Pyp in the back, bouncing along every time they hit a bump. He breathed out through his nose.

“Is that why you don’t let the women come along on these scouting missions?” He’d probably been itching to ask that question since last night. Jon and Ygritte had had a row in the canteen. She wanted to come with them; he wanted her to stay there. In the end, it had been Robb’s call, and Ygritte had stormed off in a fury.

“Partly,” Robb answered carefully. “When a man has a _one_ in five chance of dying from the Plague and a woman has a _four_ in five chance…” It wasn’t the answer Ygritte wanted to hear, but it was still the truth. The Plague hadn’t just vanished with the rest of the human race.

“What’s the other part?”

“Risk cost benefit,” Robb said after a moment’s hesitation. “This won’t be a dangerous mission, but there are times when things go wrong. People get hurt or…” He paused. No sense in tiptoeing through it. Theon knew what happened out in the Wastes. “Die,” he finished. “It’s not worth gambling humanity’s future.” That was _really_ not the answer Ygritte wanted to hear, and she’d once threatened him with a switchblade for even suggesting it. Though he didn’t know what offended her more—the idea that she couldn’t come because she was more valuable or the fact that Jon often _did_ go with, sometimes at considerable risk to himself.

The same thought seemed to pass through Theon’s mind. “But you’re okay putting yourself in danger?”

“Yeah,” Robb answered, “but the world will keep spinning without me.”

“And you’re okay putting these men in danger?”

“That’s different.” He turned the truck again in a wide arc. No marker this time; he just knew when they were getting close. Now their back was to the sun. “They volunteered, but they’re still my mine. I’d take a bullet myself to save any one of them.” He meant it, absolutely. It was important that Theon knew that. “That includes you too.”

“You’d take a _bullet_ for me?” He sounded skeptical, but with more than a hint of hope in his voice. Robb didn’t blame him. The idea of a leader giving up his life for his men was a novel concept in this day and age, but one Robb had been taught—and lived through—by his father, Ned.

“If it came down to that…” Robb checked over his shoulder. “In a heartbeat.” He remembered hearing of his father’s last moments. Words like “brave” and “selfless” had been thrown around by the survivors, who all agreed Ned had bought them the time to escape. Robb had clung to that, searching desperately for a meaning behind his father’s death, some design he could make out. He still wasn’t sure if he could. “Just like I’d do for anyone in Winterfell.”

Theon was silent again, brooding. He leaned his elbow on the window and his head against his closed fist. “I don’t want you to die for me,” he mumbled.

“That’s not your decision.” Robb plastered a broad grin on his face. Enough of this. This was not the sort of talk to engage in right before Theon’s first scouting mission. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, though.”

Up ahead, a small cluster of buildings had come into view. As they got closer, you could make out the houses, overgrown with tumbleweeds, roofs caving in on themselves. Robb pulled onto the concrete road, cracks filled with stubborn weeds poking out from underneath. The town itself was on a slight incline and not well-protected from the elements. Most of the signs were illegible from wind and sand damage, but some signs still bore words: Fuel, Children at Play, City Hall.

Robb pulled up in front of a two-story building with a mass of twisted metal inside a chain-link fence. The words above the entrance read: ing Memorial Elementary School. There was more to the first word, but it had been chipped away. Absolutely every window was broken. Robb cut the engine and the men in the back began to pile out.

Theon and Robb got out of the cabin and came around back, where Jon was handing out weapons and water bottles. He hesitated for a split second before giving Theon a rifle. “Alright,” he said, “two teams. Grenn and Pyp to the grove.” He jumped down from the truck bed. “Me, Robb, and Theon giving the place a sweep.”

Robb felt Theon bristle at that. “I think Theon and I can handle things on our own,” Robb said as he slung his own rifle over his shoulder.

“I’m coming with you,” Jon said simply. He shot a look at Theon. “Safety in numbers.”

“Oh, never mind us, then,” Grenn muttered.

Jon rolled his eyes at them. “Get going, you two. I want to be back at headquarters before morning.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Pyp gave a mock salute, and he and Grenn turned about.

“Why’s it his place to give us orders?” Theon pouted.

“Jon’s our tactical specialist.” Robb began checking his rifle to make sure it was loaded properly. He’d checked before they’d left, but it never hurt to check again. “He’s the _de facto_ leader while we’re out, and what he says goes.”

“Alright.” Jon cocked his gun before placing it in the holster at his side. “Let’s get started.”


	21. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I got your guys' hopes up for some violent action. Not yet. Patience, my pretties. But first, have some emotional hurt/comfort.

There was a row of shops behind the school. Most had been gutted, like the café and attached market. The windows had been broken, the awnings torn down—either by looters or the elements—and dry weeds had taken over the walls. Theon doubted they’d find anything here, but Robb was insistent. “There’s something here that we didn’t need before,” he said. “Jon, think you can stand guard while Theon and I take a look around?”

Jon scowled. Well, it looked more like a scowl than usual. He still didn’t trust Theon, that much was abundantly clear. “Maybe _you_ should stand guard while Theon and I look around?”

Robb scowled back, though he seemed to be mocking Jon’s expression. “Don’t make me pull rank.”

Jon sighed in agitation and turned his back on them. “Five minutes.”

Robb nodded towards one of the stores. Written in faded pastel colors above the door were the words: Baby ‘n Me. “For Gilly,” he said. He used the end of his rifle to clear away the jagged glass left in the window, and together they hopped in.

The inside was musty, and Theon followed Robb’s lead by pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth. To his surprise, it was a clothing store, or had been in its previous life. The racks had been knocked over, but most of the clothes remained. There wouldn’t have been much need for baby clothes for the original looters, and much less for the tribes that had passed in and out of here after them.

Robb was rooting around in the back room. “If they have cloth diapers, get as many as you can fit in a bag. Other than that, shoes, warm clothes, and blankets.”

“Sure,” Theon said uncertainly. He bent down to an overturned rack and began sorting through the tiny clothes. There were a few jackets with felt lining, and he stuffed those into the plastic bag Robb had given him. Shoes were lined up along the wall, so tiny and fragile-looking. Theon was almost afraid to touch them, worried they’d become so brittle from decades on a shelf that they would disintegrate under his fingers. They didn’t, though, and he began shoveling those in his bag as well—all sizes, every size they had. He’d get the kid enough shoes to last for years.

He was reaching for a pair of sandals when something suddenly felt off. He crouched down and strained his ears. The store had become oddly silent. Robb’s rustling from the other room had died away.

“Robb?”

No answer.

Theon set his bag down and slung his rifle around.

“Robb, are you there?”

Still no answer.

Heart beating like a jackhammer in his throat, he made his way to the back room. He nudged the door open, cringing at the creaking hinges. The muzzle of his rifle led the way.

He found Robb slumped against the wall and immediately ran to his side. He hadn’t heard anything, sounds of struggle or such, but someone must have gotten the drop of them. He only hoped Robb was unhurt. He knelt down and shook Robb’s shoulder.

Robb flinched away. He must be hurt badly. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, his face contorted in a look of pure misery. Damn the bastards. Theon turned around and swept his rifle around the room, ready to fire. “Who did this to you, Robb? Where are you hurt?”

Robb hiccupped. “Eddie.”

“Eddie? Who’s Eddie?”

“That’s…what we were…were going to call him.” Robb sniffled. “After my dad.”

He had something clutched in his hands, something he kept twisting and twisting. Warily, after making sure the room was empty, Theon turned to him and pried it out of his hands. It was a shirt, so tiny it could have fit on a teddy bear. The sleeves were blue, the rest white, and across the shirt read the words: I Heart My Daddy.

_Oh_.

Theon pulled the rifle strap over his head and set the gun on the ground so he could sit down next to Robb. “Ygritte told me about your wife,” he said. “And the baby.”

Robb looked up with red-rimmed eyes.

“Eddie, huh?” Theon studied the shirt. “Short for Edric?”

“Eddard,” Robb corrected halfheartedly. “So, Ygritte told you. Aren’t you going to try to tell me it wasn’t my fault?”

“I think you already know that. At least, I _hope_ you already know that.” Theon folded the shirt as best he could and set it aside. He put his arm around Robb’s shoulders and drew him close. Robb, with all the life of a broken marionette, leaned his cheek against Theon’s shoulder. No one had ever leaned on Theon before; no one had ever looked to him for comfort. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he used his free hand to stroke Robb’s hair like his uncle used to do when Theon was little.

“Jeyne told me I was going to be a great father.” Robb let out a weary sigh.

“I think you would have made a great father. Just look how you’ve taken care of me.”

Robb turned and buried his face in the crook of Theon’s neck. Theon patted his back awkwardly as Robb sobbed and sobbed into his shoulder, until his shirt was completely soaked. Sometime during this crying session, Robb wrapped his arms around Theon’s waist and hugged him like he was a fleeting memory.

It didn’t make sense that Robb would cry. Robb was strong. It did something to Theon. It made him want to shield and protect this man.

He took Robb’s shoulders and helped him to sit up straight. His entire face was red now, and tear-stained, his lip quivering. Theon leaned in and kissed his cheek, the damp skin right under his eye. Robb breathed in heavily, like he hadn’t taken even a second to breathe, and Theon worked his way down to his mouth. He gave him a chaste kiss and pulled back, hoping he had read the situation correctly.

Robb reconnected their lips, hands on either side of Theon’s face as he slid into Theon’s lap. It wasn’t a lust-filled kiss, but passionate nonetheless. It said, “Hold me,” so Theon did. He rested his hands on Robb’s hips as they nuzzled, nose to nose, Robb still leaking tears.

“I hate that I couldn’t save them,” he whispered against Theon’s lips. “I try to make up for it every day.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility.” Another feather-light kiss. “You saved me, though. And Gilly. And Ygritte. And a lot more people, I’m sure.” A kiss on the end of his nose. “I think you’ve more than paid whatever debt you seem to think you owe.”

Robb opened his mouth to say something, but just then the door burst open.

Theon jumped and reached for the gun. He didn’t even have it under his hands when he recognized Jon’s scowling face. “What are you doing to him?” he demanded, leveling his gun at Theon.

“Jon, stand down.” Robb wobbled to his feet and held out his hands. “We were just…we were…”

Jon sighed and lowered gun. “You were gone longer than five minutes.”

“Sorry.” Robb wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He was already forming dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired. “Theon and I…we were…”

“I think I know what you were doing.” He nodded to Theon. “Sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” Then, back to Robb. “We have visitors.”

Robb immediately schooled his features. The vulnerable man was replaced with a confident, unflinching leader. “What sort of visitors?”

“Not friendly, that’s for sure. They didn’t see me, but I saw them.” He cocked his head towards the door. “Freys.”

“Shit.”

Theon couldn’t remember hearing Robb swear before. “Freys?” he asked.

Robb bent down and reached for the rifle he’d set aside. “A hostile tribe,” he said, taking it up. “Cannibals.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might need to post some cannibalism tags next time.


	22. Robb

They were Freys alright. Robb knew them from their clothes, really just tattered rags, even by rag standards. Years of eating humans had left them all a little mad, and Winterfell’s involvement with them had never been pleasant. There were only two of them now, though perhaps a third had been with them judging from the hunk of raw, red meat the taller of them was tearing into. They were not above eating their own.

“Only two,” Theon said in a low voice. “We can take them.”

Jon shot Robb an incredulous look.

Robb tugged on Theon’s sleeve to get him back behind the wall where they couldn’t be seen. “Too risky. There might be others around. It’s best if we let them pass. We’ll be careful making our way back to the truck.” He looked to Jon. “Do you think Grenn and Pyp ran into any trouble?”

“They can hold their own. Unless they’ve already loaded up something big into the truck, I doubt they’d draw much attention to themselves. And if they did, I imagine we’d have heard shots fired by now.”

“But they’re cannibals, right?” Theon kept trying to peer around the corner. “If we don’t kill them, they’re just going to keep killing others, right? Wouldn’t it be best to take care of them here and now?”

Jon smacked Theon across the back of the head. “What part of ‘there might be more’ don’t you understand?”

Theon gave him a Jon-worthy scowl. “I understand that if there were more, these two wouldn’t be wandering off alone.”

“Shut it,” Jon hissed dangerously. He almost looked like a snake now, coiled low to the ground, preparing to strike. “I’ve got someone back home _waiting_ for me, and I’m not going to risk my life because _you_ want to be a tough guy in front of Robb.”

Robb would have laughed if there weren’t two cannibals ten paces from their hiding spot. As it was, Theon turned bright red and pressed himself flat against the wall. Was that it? Was he really trying to impress anyone here? Prove something? Robb would have to have a talk with him later—no male posturing while on away missions.

The two Freys passed by, but Jon had them wait several more minutes before giving them the go-ahead to move. They gathered up the supplies, which severely limited their ability to shoot their rifles, but Jon followed behind, sweeping the area with his gun. And it wasn’t like two bags of baby clothes weighed them down mightily. They made their way back to the school, using whatever they could find, but moving at a quick and silent pace.

Robb spotted the truck through the chain link fence. Grenn and Pyp had found something—something with branches and leaves—and had loaded it into the back. They were resting with their feet dangling out the back of the truck, and Pyp waved to the party as they began to climb the fence.

“What have you got?” Robb asked, since he was first one there.

Pyp looked over his shoulder at the tree. It was little more than a sapling, really, about as tall as a child. The branches were thin and thick with green leaves. It looked like a healthy growing thing. “Not sure,” he answered, scratching at his chin. “Fruit-bearing tree of some kind. There were pits around the base.”

“Good, good.” Robb tossed his bag into the back with them. “Sam can probably identify it.”

“Let’s not stay around too long.” Jon came up behind them, still on guard. “We saw Freys in the area.”

“Shit,” Grenn muttered. He got to his feet and gave Pyp a swift kick in the back. “Help me tie this fuckin’ tree down. I don’t want to end up on some cannibal’s dinner table.”

Pyp sniffed in indignation but got up to help.

“We’re leaving?” Theon asked, sounding incredulous. Robb took the bag from his hands. “Just like that? Surely there’s more…stuff out there we could use.”

“We’ve got enough for this run.” Robb cocked his head towards the truck. “We’ll be back in a couple months.” This had to be different than how his old tribe operated. Those who depended on raiding went in, killed those who put up resistance, keep those who were useful, and took absolutely everything. Robb had seen their work before, had several members of his own tribe who had experienced their work up close and personal.

Theon begrudgingly went around the other side to climb into the cabin, while Robb made one last check that everything in the back—including his men—was secure. Jon gave him a nod to confirm they were ready to leave, and Robb turned back. He had just slid into the driver’s seat when a loud gunshot rang out across the concrete square.

Jon smacked the roof of the truck. “Go! Go! Go!”

With shaking hands, Robb reached under the dashboard for the right wires and touched them together. The car roared and died on the first try.

Theon was breathing heavily in the seat next to him, but he had to block that out.

He tried again, to the same effect.

_Please, please don’t die on me now_ , he prayed.

On the third try, the engine revved to life. Robb shifted the gears and stepped on the pedal. The truck tore out of town.

Several more shots followed them, but now that they were on wheels, they mowed past the Freys who tried to slow them down. There were at most five of them, waving guns and blunt instruments and howling in impotent fury as the members of Winterfell Tribe roared away.

Robb watched through the rearview mirror and laughed. “Close one, eh?”

He looked over. Theon was pale and shaking.

“Are you alright?”

Theon didn’t seem to hear at first, then he nodded. “I…I thought they were going to get us. God, did you see how close they were?” He turned his wide eyes to Robb. All his earlier confidence had melted away.

“It’s okay.” Robb took one hand off the wheel and patted Theon’s shoulder. “I’m okay. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

Grenn knocked on the back window. “Uh…we have a problem back here.”

Robb looked over his shoulder.

“Jon’s been shot.”


	23. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood and medical-type descriptions.

They couldn’t stop, not when there was a band of cannibals at their backs. Theon watched the way it tore Robb apart, the way he clenched the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles stand out. He wanted to pull over and check on his brother, but he had to make do with Grenn and Pyp shouting updates to him every so often.

Jon had been shot in the stomach, it seemed. The bleeding was bad. Jon was still conscious, though barely. Pyp was applying pressure to the wound. There wasn’t much else to do but try to get back to headquarters as quickly as possible.

Theon rode in silence. Robb wouldn’t want to be burdened with small talk at a time like this. No doubt memories of losing his wife and son were still raw from being dredged up earlier. Now the very real possibility of losing his brother was looming on the horizon.

“Oh Gods,” Pyp cried, “he’s not breathing!”

Robb slammed on the brakes. Theon went flying head-first into the dashboard. He bumped his forehead but immediately turned around to check on the men in the back. Pyp had fallen over, but Grenn was still kneeling by Jon’s side.

“He’s fine,” Grenn called. “He’s breathing.”

“Gods.” Robb pried his hands off the steering wheel. He was trembling so hard that he could hardly wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I can’t…I _can’t_ …”

“Do either of them know how to drive?” Theon asked.

“I can drive,” Grenn said. “Maybe _you_ should be back here with him, Robb.”

Robb nodded. He put the truck into idling mode, and everyone played a warped game of musical chairs. Grenn hopped out of the back and into the driver’s seat. Robb hurried around back, and Theon followed him. The back was too crowded now, so Pyp went to take Theon’s old place. Robb had barely knelt by Jon’s side before they were off again, the engine roaring.

Jon looked like death. He was pale, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow movements, and his eyes rolled wildly in his head. Robb took off his jacket and used it to cushion Jon’s head. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, not sounding at all convinced himself.

“I’ll…I’ll check the wound,” Theon suggested. He pulled back the red cloth Pyp had been using to stymy the tide—there was no telling what color it had been originally. The hole underneath was clean, no organs hanging out, which was a good sign. Theon dug his fingers behind Jon’s back and began feeling around for a matching wound. Jon groaned through clenched teeth as Theon found was he was looking for.

“What are you doing?” Robb asked.

“The bullet went in and out,” Theon explained, prying his blood-soaked fingers out from under Jon’s weight. “That’s good. It means it’s not still lodged inside. Help me get his shirt off.”

Robb had a small knife in his pocket with many fold-out pieces, one of which was a tiny pair of scissors. Using that, Theon cut away the strips of Jon’s shirt while Robb carefully rolled him for the right access. Once the shirt was gone, Theon began tearing it into strips. Robb forced Jon to fold his knees to keep blood from pooling in the wound.

“Okay,” Theon said, once he had the entire shirt shredded. He wasn’t sure it would be enough, but there were other materials they could use. Right now the important thing was to get the wound covered. He poured the remnants from his water bottle onto the cloth, and together the two of them worked to wind the makeshift bandage around Jon’s abdomen, loosely so as not to cut off blood flow.

By then, Jon had gone quite still, and Robb hurried back to cradle his head. “It’s alright,” he repeated, “you’re alright.” Over and over again.

Jon nodded to show he was still with them.

Theon rummaged around in the bags for other useful bandages. He found a scarf that had been intended for Baby Sam, but Jon could use it more at the moment. Jon’s plain white shirt was already saturated with blood, and the red immediately began to seep through the light blue of the baby’s scarf. It was slowing, though, and that was hopeful.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Robb noted. He sounded hollow.

Theon sat back on his haunches and began wiping the blood off on his own shirt. “I’ve treated a few gunshot wounds. Chest and abdomen are most common, because they’re the easiest to hit. It helps when you’re the only one who can read the first aid handbooks.” He smiled and didn’t mention that more men had died than pulled through.

Jon, showing more life than he had in the last hour or so, reached out with a trembling hand and grasped Robb’s. “Tell Ygritte…” he wheezed, “to get a…new man.”

Theon had seen this before, too, though not from his time with Ramsay. His uncle had started talking that way towards the end as well. Jon was looking for some reassurance, even though he probably knew his odds weren’t good. This was the part where Robb was supposed to say, “You’ll have to tell her yourself, because I’m not letting you die,” or something like that. Keep calm; keep stoic. Instead, Robb folded, and his already-red eyes began streaming tears once more.

“Gods, it’s all my fault. If I’d gotten the truck to start faster—if I’d managed stay hidden—if I hadn’t forced you all to come with me…”

“Robb,” Theon snapped. “Shut up.”

Robb immediately fell silent, and Jon gave Theon a look of gratitude. _Jon_ …gave _Theon_ …a look of gratitude.

“It’s a little early to start blaming yourself, isn’t it?”

Robb’s mouth opened and closed without saying a word.

“Robb.” Jon tugged weakly on his sleeve. “ _I’m_ the one…dying here…remember?”

“No.” Robb grabbed Jon’s hand and gave it a hard squeeze, judging from the way Jon winced a bit. “No, you’re not dying. You’re fine. We’re taking you back to headquarters. Sam will know what to do. He always knows what to do.”

“If he…doesn’t pass out…from the sight of this blood.” But Jon was smiling again.

Theon sat back, and Robb continued to hold Jon’s hand as they rumbled through the Wastes.


	24. Robb

Jon had made it through the night, which, according to Sam, was a promising sign. The medic/librarian came out of surgery covered in Jon’s blood and looking pale. He didn’t have the stomach of a surgeon, but he was the best they had. “Well…I’ve got him all patched up for now,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “No major organs were perforated. He’s stopped bleeding, but…”

“But it’s not enough,” Robb finished.

Sam nodded sadly. He and Jon were very close. Robb suspected they may have been an item before Jon met Ygritte. He had to remind himself that Sam had almost as much stock in Jon’s survival as he did. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Too much blood.”

Robb was exhausted. He hadn’t slept all night, just sitting outside the operating room while Theon slept propped up against him and Ygritte sat sharpening her knife in the corner. He had no plans to allow himself to sleep until Jon was out of the worst of the danger, especially if there was something he could actually do.

He began rolling up his sleeve, but Ygritte beat him first. “He can have mine,” she said, sidestepping him and rolling up her own sleeve.

Sam held up his hands, as if warding her off. “I can do a primitive blood transfusion, like they used to do in the pre-Plague days, but if your blood isn’t compatible—”

Ygritte curled her lip.

“—he could die,” Sam finished with a small squeak.

“Me then,” Robb argued. He had his sleeve rolled up past his elbow now. “Jon and I are brothers. If anyone here’s compatible with him, it’s me.”

Sam looked from Robb to Ygritte, sighed, and nodded sheepishly. “Not much of a choice. If we don’t get blood into him soon…” He trailed off, looking even paler at the mere mention of blood.

Robb turned to Ygritte. “Stay with Theon,” he said, nodding towards the man sleeping against the wall. He’d struggled to stay awake with Robb, but had finally succumbed to exhaustion just before morning broke. “I’ll take care of your man if you take care of mine.”

Ygritte lifted a stunningly red eyebrow. “Is he your man now?”

Robb looked to Theon’s sleeping form. He suffered from nightmares occasionally, but right now he looked peaceful. Robb didn’t want to disturb him. “I’ve been thinking about asking him,” he replied. “But that’s not important right now. Just make sure that if he wakes up and I’m not there, you tell him I didn’t leave him. Got it?”

Ygritte nodded. “Got it. Now shut up and do what you need to do.”

 

***

 

Sam called a stop to it when Robb passed out a half hour into the transfusion. Robb came around after a few gentle slaps to the face. Sam’s concerned face swam into focus, and his fretful talk of “maybe getting some rest” was barely audible over the roaring in Robb’s ears.

“I can…give more,” Robb insisted.

“Robb.” Sam was not good at scolding, but he sounded about as confident as Robb had ever heard him. “I know, and you know, that Jon wouldn’t want you putting yourself in this sort of danger for his sake.”

Robb looked over at the table. Jon was completely out, and so pale that his skin looked white. The only sign of life was the gentle rise and fall of his chest. A thin IV connected them across the space between their tables. Robb wanted to reach out and stop Sam as he pulled the needle from his arm.

“I’m afraid that’s all I can do for the moment,” he said as he drained the last bit of blood into Jon and then disconnected him as well. “He’ll either improve on his own or…” A sound like a hiccup caught in his throat, but he turned away from Robb to stifle it. “Or he won’t.”

“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” Robb struggled to sit up. Sam hurried to help him.

“I have all the knowledge of pre-Plague medicine in my books,” he said, “but knowledge isn’t the problem. It’s the equipment, and most of the pre-Plague stuff…” He sighed and threw Robb’s arm over his shoulder and got him to his feet.

Robb tried to insist that he could walk on his own, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he realized he had a terrible wobble in his knees. His ears were still pounding, and now the world seemed to be spinning around him.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “It would take more than a doctor’s know-how at this point. Maybe if I were a wizard like in one of Gilly’s stories…”

“Gilly’s stories?”

“Oh, she talks about things she heard when she was...you know, before she came here. Craster was a superstitious man, it seems, and he was always listening to stories about sorcerers. They said a man named the Blood Raven could heal the crippled, and the Red Priest could even bring men back from the dead.”

“Did she…?” Robb had to pause to get his right foot under him again. “Did she ever meet any of these sorcerers?”

Sam gave him an odd look. “Sorcerers aren’t real, Robb. Magic isn’t real.”

“How do you know?”

“Because…because there’s no record of it in any of the pre-Plague books.” He paused to amend himself. “No _credible_ record.”

“But still…you don’t _know_.”

“Robb, I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.” They reached the operating room door, and Sam had to hold it open for Robb. “Even if they did exist, there’s a whole lot of Waste for you to look through. And even if you somehow found someone who…who could magically heal others, how would you even convince them to come back with you? And besides…”

Robb took a few steps on his own and brushed off Sam when he tried to help.

“You can barely walk.”

“Relax, Sam. I’m fine. You know, I think I’ll take your advice and get some rest.”

Relief washed over Sam’s face. “Yes, get some sleep. That’s the best thing. I’ll send Ygritte if there’s any change with Jon.”

Robb began fumbling his way down the hall, using the wall to support the weight his legs couldn’t quite handle yet. He turned and gave Sam a genuine, grateful smile. “Thanks for everything, Sam.”

***

 

Robb finished loading up the back of the truck. It had taken him the better part of the afternoon to covertly gather all the supplies he’d need and move them to the truck. Now night had fallen, and darkness would help him. He shoved the last tank of fuel in and sat down to catch his breath. He had been telling himself that it took so long because he had to be careful no one would catch him, but if he were being honest with himself, he was slower and weaker and definitely running on near-empty. Perhaps he should have grabbed some rest like he’d told Sam he would.

There was no time, dammit. Every hour spent sleeping was an hour he could spend searching for a way to save Jon’s life. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t find a sorcerer, but maybe he’d find some sort of medical equipment Sam could use. Some sort of medicine or…or _something_. Anything was better than _nothing_.

The car door felt heavier than usual. He was so focused on getting it open that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a voice say, “What are you doing?” in an accusing tone. Clutching his chest, as if that would slow the startling of his heart, he looked up to see Theon was already in the passenger’s seat, eyeing him as if he knew exactly what Robb was doing.

“I’m going to find help for Jon.”

“In the middle of the night? Alone?”

“I can’t…” He paused to draw in a deep breath. “I can’t risk anyone else’s life.”

“So you admit that it’s a risky and stupid thing to do.” Theon turned so that his profile was to Robb. His nose and chin were sharp in the moonlight. “Even when I was with Ramsay, men didn’t go out on their own. Not because anybody cared if they died or not, but because if you went on a mission alone, you were practically guaranteed to fail.”

Robb didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m not here to talk you out of it. I’m coming with you.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” His eyebrows pinched together. “No, on second thought, I’m _not_ offering. I’m _telling_ you. Unless you want to leave me too, just like my uncle did.”

What could he say to that? “That’s pretty manipulative.”

Theon set his chin. “I want to be with you, Robb. Wherever you go. Besides—” His nostrils flared ever so slightly. “—I know where you need to go.”

Robb was taken aback by that. “You…do?”

“Sam told me to watch you. He said you’d gotten a crazy idea into your head, and he wanted me to make sure you didn’t…do this.” He shrugged to indicate the truck and supplies loaded in the back. “But since you’re set and there’s not much I can do aside from tying you down, I figured I’d point you in the right direction, at least.

“When I went raiding with Ramsay, I heard a lot of stories…vicariously. There was this one, about someone called the Red Woman, who could summon demons with blood magic.” He smiled ruefully. “Ramsay reckoned it was all a bunch of lies to keep men from snooping around after this woman. He had a half-formed plan that he was going to pull a raid on this…I guess you would call them a tribe. He was going to raid this tribe, capture this Red Woman, make her his wife, and prove to everyone that she was just a flesh and blood woman.”

“Why only half-formed?”

“All the men he sent never came back.”

Despite his exhaustion, Robb felt his heart swell with hope. “Blood magic?”

“Ramsay didn’t think so. He thought it had more to do with their fort. Impregnable, he said.”

Robb gritted his teeth at those words. He’d never met Ramsay except to exchange a few gunshots with him, but he suspected he knew exactly what the man had meant.

“Maybe this woman is magic,” Theon went on. “Maybe it’s just a bunch of lies. Or maybe it’s something else. But it’s better than wandering around in the Wastes on your own.” He finally turned back and cast his blue-green eyes on Robb. “Trust me. That’s something I know a little bit about.”

After all he’d been through, he still had this sort of pride about him. Robb would forever hate himself if he forced Theon to beg for anything, especially something like offering help. So instead he just nodded, climbed into the front seat, and closed the door.

“You’re tried,” Theon noted as Robb tried to coax the engine to life. “Let me drive.”

“Do you know how to drive a truck?”

“Teach me, then.”

“It would take too long.”

Theon sank back into his seat in defeat.

On the third try, Robb got the engine going, and he eased the truck out of the garage. It rumbled loud enough that the guards at the perimeter had to have heard, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do to stop him now that he was gaining speed. He put the truck in gear and tore off into the Wastes.

“There _is_ something you can do to help me stay awake,” he said, eying the rearview mirror to see if anyone had come running.

“Yeah?”

“Talk to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What (or who) will the boys find out in the Wastes? I think we all know the answer to that question.


	25. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song in this chapter is, obviously, [Brahms's Lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0eASoAXTx0) (with an English translation from Jewel, of all people. I like this version because the words more closely match the meter than the more traditional translation.) It's a little silly to imagine Theon singing this song, but I picture it as something Alannys might have sung to him.

“So…” Theon tapped his fingers on the window. The chill of the night was fading as the sky began to lighten, bringing with it the sun. In an hour or so, the warmth from the overheated engine would turn from comfortably toasty to uncomfortably hot. “Eddard. Was he your only father or…?”

“I had three fathers,” Robb answered with a yawn. He quickly shook his head, as if that would fend off the obvious exhaustion. “Eddard was my favorite and probably my biological father. I know he was Jon’s. Everyone says they looked so alike.”

“Tell me about your other fathers.”

“Hmm…” Robb’s head began to nod, but he focused on talking. “Brandon was my mother’s first husband. He died when I was little, so I don't remember him that well. Jon thinks _he_ might be my biological father. It’s hard to tell because I look so much like Mom. Eddard—everyone called him Ned—was actually _his_ brother. So if I’m right, Jon and I are full brothers. But if Jon’s right, we’re half-brothers _and_ cousins.” He smiled for a brief second, and then it was gone.

Theon had been trying to keep Robb’s mind off of Jon, but Robb seemed determined to keep thinking about it.

“And your third father?”

“Petyr,” Robb answered promptly. “He hardly raised me at all, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s not my biological father. He never had any interest in me or Jon, more interest in trying to gain favor with the tribe members.” He tapped his hands in an off-beat rhythm on the steering wheel. “As far as I know, he’s dead. Took off with a scouting party years ago, before I even met Jeyne…”

He paused here to swallow thickly. Another topic Theon had been trying to avoid.

“Never came back. My mother didn’t think he was worth searching for.”

“And your mother?”

“Dead now. Fever. Took her within twenty-four hours.”

Theon realized he’d begun tapping his fingers to Robb’s rhythm and put his hands in his lap. “Sorry to hear that.”

“What about…um… _your_ mother?”

“Killed herself,” Theon answered plainly. “She just…got tired, I guess. That’s what my uncle said, when he could be bothered to talk about her at all. I guess she’s kind of like your father Brandon. I don’t remember her that well, but sometimes I have these memories…I think she used to sing to me.”

“Do you remember what she sang?”

Theon shrugged. “Old lullabies, that sort of thing.”

“Sing one for me.”

“You don’t want to hear me sing, I promise you.”

“No, go on. It will help me relax.”

Well, this was something no one had ever asked of him. He wasn’t even sure he knew _how_ to sing. But if it would keep Robb’s mind off his dead wife, dead fathers, dead mother, and dying brother… Theon felt completely idiotic as he opened his mouth and forced his voice to make the notes of the song. It started out as more a croak, but after going the first few bars without Robb bursting out laughing, his confidence grew.

 

“Lullaby, and good night, in the skies stars are bright.  
May the moon's, silv’ry beams, bring you sweet dreams.  
Close your eyes, now and rest, may these hours be blessed  
‘Til the sky's bright with dawn, when you wake with a yawn.

 

Lullaby, and good night. You are mother's delight.  
I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.”

 

He didn’t remember any more words, so he looked over at Robb to see if he should just repeat the verse. Robb’s head had rolled forward on his chest, and his hands on the steering wheel went completely limp.

Theon yelped as the truck veered wildly. “Robb! Wake up!” He reached over and grasped the wheel but was unsure of what to do. There wasn’t anything to hit, really, but now they were going in zigzags all over the desert. He jerked the wheel all the way to the right to correct their course, and the tires made groaning sounds against the rocky sand.

That, at least, got Robb to jolt upright, hands on the wheel again. “What? I’m awake. I’m awake.”

“Robb.” Theon didn’t let go of the wheel. “You’re too tired to keep going like this. If you’re not going to let me drive, then at least stop the truck and take a few hours to rest.”

“I…” Robb shook his head as he pulled the truck back into a straight line. “I’m fine. I…”

“You’re not fine. Stop the car.”

Robb fiddled with the stick shift and brought the truck to a crawl. When they were finally stopped, he killed the engine. “There. Happy?”

Theon flung his door open and came around to Robb’s side. He grabbed Robb’s upper arm and yanked him out of his seat. Robb was either too tired or too weak to resist, and he slid out easily. Theon made him come around to the back and wait there while he arranged a makeshift bed from the blankets Robb had brought and set up the tarp. Robb would need the protection; the sun was just now peeking over the horizon and would be punishingly hot in a few hours. After all was set up, he reached down for Robb, who was going along with all of this for now. He took Theon’s hand, and Theon hoisted him up into the truck bed.

“There.” Theon jabbed his finger at the “bed.” It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing, but he’d slept in worse. He was willing to bet Robb had as well. “Sleep. And don’t wake up until you’re fully rested. I’ll stand guard.”

“Theon…”

“No. Arguing.” Theon put his hands on Robb’s shoulders and pressed down. Robb all but collapsed into the pile of blankets, looking surprised at Theon’s strength. Maybe he really had gotten stronger, but more than likely, Robb was just weak at the moment. Theon sat down, folded his legs, and said, “Do you need me to sing again?”

“Could you…” Robb was too pale to fully blush, but he looked sheepish. “Could you sing that last bit?”

“Which last bit?”

“About waking up in your arms?”

Theon blinked. He’d never really thought about the lyrics before. They were sort of just noises that went along with the melody. “Uh…okay. If that will help you sleep.” He closed his eyes and tried to remember the words. It was more difficult than starting at the beginning. After a few seconds, he thought he had it.

 

“Lullaby, and good night. You are mother's delight.  
I'll protect you from harm, and you'll wake in my arms.”

 

He repeated it a few times before he noticed Robb’s breathing had evened out. Red eyelashes stood out against the new paleness of his skin, and the eyes behind those lids spasmed as sleep set in.

Robb slept like that, practically without moving, for almost eight hours straight. The sun came up, reached its zenith, and began back down. Theon sat under the shade of the tarp, took the occasional sip of water, and watched Robb. He was peaceful like this, not worrying about whatever responsibilities he thought he carried, his mouth slightly parted, his breathing even. He did snore, little gasping noises in the back of his throat that grew louder as he exhaled.

He would probably be hungry when he woke up, so Theon began digging around in the supplies for something to eat. He had just reached for a handful of granola bars when he caught movement out of the corner of his eyes. He spun around, forgetting the bars and reaching for the gun, only to find it was a rabbit grazing on the brittle grass growing from a nearby sand dune. _Well, there you go_ , Theon thought, hopping down from the trunk. _Meat’s supposed to be good for people who’ve lost a lot of blood._

He turned and regarded Robb one more time. He was still sleeping hard. He looked pretty comfortable surrounded by blankets, shielded from the sun by the tarp. Theon nodded to him and swung the rifle’s strap over his shoulder. _I’ll only be gone for a few minutes._

There wasn’t much cover, just the slope of the dune, so he had to creep slowly, crouching down. He’d hunted rabbits and other small animals with his uncle; it was how he’d learned he was a sharp shooter. The two most important skills were aim and patience. Rabbits spooked easily and would run at the first sign of danger—a twig snapping, a heavy footfall.

Theon lowered himself down onto his belly and army-crawled the last few meters up the side of the dune. The rabbit was still grazing. He was close enough now to make out its black eyes, the twitching of its nose. He propped himself up on his elbows, raised the rifle, and looked down the sight. It was right there, completely unaware of his presence.

There was a metallic clicking from behind. The rabbit’s ears perked up, it looked around, and in a split second took off. Theon would have cursed if it weren’t for the hard metal barrel of a rifle against the base of his skull.

“Hello again, dear Theon,” Ramsay said.


	26. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings. All of them. All of the warnings. Consider yourself warned.

Robb woke up to someone banging on the side of the truck. At first he was confused about where he was. His joints ached in an unfamiliar way and his head felt too heavy to lift. Then he remembered everything from the past forty-eight hours but couldn’t think of why Theon would be rousing him in such a way.

“Up, up!” someone who was _not_ Theon was saying.

Robb finally bolted into a sitting position to see a dozen or so men gathered around the truck in a semi-circle. Within a fraction of a second, he could determine these were strangers, and hostiles at that. He reached for the handgun he’d stowed for just such an occasion but stopped when he heard Theon whimpering.

“I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you.” Robb recognized Ramsay. He was a big man, with long dark hair. He also had one meaty hand wrapped around Theon’s upper arm, the other holding the rifle right under Theon’s chin. “You touch that gun and our Theon here gets a new hole in his face.”

“Robb, do what they say.”

Robb raised his arms. “Alright, alright. Don’t hurt him.”

Ramsay smirked. “Smart. Now get out here.”

Robb scooted to the edge of the truck bed. Two men came to help him down, grabbing his wrists and yanking him forward.

“You were right, dear Theon.” Ramsay chuckled as he pushed Theon forward. Theon staggered and nearly fell. “He gave up pretty easily for your sake.”

_What?_

Theon wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“So, you’re the leader of…what did you call it, Theon? Winterfell Tribe?” Ramsay scoffed and stepped past Theon’s limp form to stand in front of Robb. “You’re the one who’s been keeping my Theon prisoner these last few months? I hope you got some use out of him.”

Robb lurched forward, attempting to land a punch to Ramsay’s snide face, but the men holding him jerked him back. Ramsay laughed and smashed the butt of his rifle into Robb’s face. He tasted blood in the back of his throat as his nose cracked.

“You’re feisty.” Ramsay’s hand grabbed hold of his chin and forced his face upwards. “I _hate_ feisty. You really think he can be of use to us?” He directed this last part at Theon.

Theon had half-slumped to the ground and still refused to make eye contact. “He’s a good mechanic. He’s gotten plenty of pre-Plague machines to work.”

“Fuck you!” Robb spat. “I’m not—”

“I’m sure we’ll come to some arrangement,” Ramsay interrupted. He turned to the rest of his men, mangy as they were. “Okay, Boys, we’re cutting this raid short. The raid’s come to us, so gather up all this loot. We’re heading back.”

A cheer rose up among the men.

“Tie his hands,” Ramsay said, nodding to the two men still holding Robb. “He’s coming with us, too.”

Robb was forced to his knees and his wrists bound with a thick, rough rope. The whole time, Theon stood off to the side, not watching, even when Robb called out to him. And when they started to head out, Theon walked by Ramsay’s side, with the other man’s arm wrapped around his waist.

 

***

 

As much as Robb didn’t want to think it, it looked like he’d been betrayed. Maybe that story of the Red Woman was just that…a story designed to lure Robb back into Ramsay’s territory. How long had Theon been planning this? And why? Did he really think Robb had been holding him prisoner all these months? Did he think that all the times they’d made love…did he think Robb had forced him? That hurt almost more than the betrayal.

They left the truck behind when they couldn’t force Robb to start it up for them. Ramsay said they’d come back for it when Robb was “feeling more cooperative.” The other men gathered up the supplies, and they headed east towards the darkening sky.

When it got so dark they could no longer travel, Ramsay ordered the tents to be pitched. A wooden pole was driven in the ground, and Robb found himself bound to this with his hands behind his back. He sat, drawing his knees as close to himself as possible, as the men started a campfire and ate. Nobody offered him anything.

Theon sat by Ramsay’s side, and when dinner was done, he followed Ramsay into his tent. It made Robb sick the way Ramsay’s hand lingered on Theon’s backside, the way Theon leaned against him. As they passed the place where Robb was bound, Theon glanced over Ramsay’s shoulder and their eyes met. It was only for a brief moment and Theon quickly turned away, but Robb saw the absolute shame there. He knew what he’d done. Maybe he hadn’t been planning this, maybe it really was an ambush, but Theon had still played it against Robb to save his own skin.

Robb supposed he couldn’t blame Theon. It was clear Ramsay still had a large amount of control over him. Robb liked to think that, in Theon’s place, he wouldn’t have taken the easy way out, but he wasn’t so sure.

He watched them disappear into the tent together. He didn’t want to think about how Ramsay was going to welcome his pet back. Even if Theon was a traitor and a coward, he didn’t deserve to go back to the way things had been.

The crunching of sand brought his attention back to the approaching men. There were four of them. One of them held a torch, and in the dim light, Robb could see the way they looked at him. There was intent there. Robb tried to deny it up until the lead man, a blond who couldn’t be much older than himself, knelt down and cupped his cheek. “I see why Ramsay’s whore took such a liking to you. You’re very pretty.” He turned Robb’s head from side to side, studying him, appraising him. “Maybe I’ll make you my new ‘favorite.’”

Robb kicked out, but that only earned a laugh from his tormenter. One of the men came around back and cut his hands free. Robb surged forward, but hands were on him in an instant, pushing him face-first into the dust. “No,” he protested. “Theon! Theon, help!” There was no way Theon would allow this to happen, but even as he screamed, there came no response from Ramsay’s tent.

He was so weak, but he forced himself to fight. If they had to kill him to get him to cooperate, then so be it. At least, that was his thought until his hand exploded with pain. He screamed without realizing it; only the hoarseness of his voice gave any indication that he’d screamed quite loudly. His vision went white, and when it returned, he found himself looking at his outstretched arm, a twelve-inch knife cutting right through his hand and buried in the dirt beneath. Even the slightest flexing sent waves of fire dancing along his nerves, all the way up his arm. He was pinned.

“There,” the blond’s voice said from somewhere above him. Hands were still pinning him down, but now one in particularly was running down the length of his spine, coming to a rest on his ass. “That’ll keep you still enough.”

Robb felt himself whimpering, involuntarily, as they began working on his clothes. They used knives, cutting his shirt and pants into ribbons and tearing them away from his body. They nicked him more than once. The night air was cool against his bare skin, but the hands running over him, gripping him, _cupping_ him, were like molten lead. They burned. His hand burned. His stomach burned with bile, and as someone pulled his cheeks apart, he knew he was going to vomit.

“No,” he tried one more time. Something rubbed against his entrance, something blunt and far too big. They weren’t even going to use their fingers first! “Please.”

“What’s going on here?”

Everything stopped.

“Ramsay!” The blond’s voice was now at a safe distance, and the presence at his entrance was gone. “We were just having a bit of fun.”

“Like I don’t know what your idea of ‘fun’ is, Damon.” Ramsay’s voice didn’t sound pleased at all, though Robb couldn’t for the life of him figure out why that would be. “Your brand of ‘fun’ would leave our new guest completely useless to us. You’ve already maimed his hand.”

“He’s fine,” someone else protested.

“You better hope so. If he can’t do what we need him to do, I’m going to take it out on you. And I’m sure you’re all aware of what _my_ brand of ‘fun’ entails.”

The voices murmured in agreement. Someone knelt down and ripped the knife from Robb’s hands. He yelled and cradled it against himself as he bled. “Fix up his hand,” Ramsay ordered to someone, Robb couldn’t tell who and didn’t care. “The rest of you will just have to go to bed with blue balls. Or fuck yourselves for all I care. This one’s not for that.”

He stomped away. The other men dispersed, some still grumbling. As they went back to their tents, one of them remained behind and knelt down by Robb’s side. He didn’t realize it was Theon until he heard his voice. “Robb, give me your hand.”

Robb shook his head and held his hand closer. He brought his knees up to try to conceal his nakedness. He didn’t want Theon seeing him.

“Please, Robb, Ramsay won’t give me too long and I need to make sure you’re bandaged properly.”

“Leave me alone.” His voice came out raspy and bitter.

Theon was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Robb, for all of this. It was the only way I could convince them not to kill you.”

“Should have let them kill me.”

“I couldn’t.” He reached for Robb’s wounded hand. Robb let him, too weak to protest. “You don’t have to understand or…thank me, but…but I couldn’t let them just kill you.” He began wrapping something soft around Robb’s hand, over and under, again and again until Robb could barely flex his fingers at all. “Just like I couldn’t let them rape you. I’m sorry I took so long. I saw them wrestle you to the ground and ran to get Ramsay. When I heard you scream, I thought…”

Robb didn’t know what to say. “So you did hear me?”

“I heard you.” Theon scooted closer and cupped Robb’s face with his hands. “God, you have no idea what it did to me. I’m sorry, Robb. I’m so sorry.”

Robb used his good hand to caress Theon’s face. There were tear tracks on his cheek. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them in the dark. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“I have to go.” Theon began to stand. “Don’t worry, they won’t touch you again.”

“Theon.” Robb tried to hold onto him, but he couldn’t. Theon’s hand slid out of his as easily as sand. “Theon, don’t go back to him. You don’t have to.”

“I do. I agreed…”

“You didn’t agree to anything! Ramsay’s not giving you a choice. He’s not giving _either_ of us a choice.”

“Just let me do this for you, Robb.”

_What? Do this for_ me _?_

“Theon, what did you agree to do for Ramsay to...to protect me?”

Theon shook his head. “Get some rest, Robb. You’ll need your strength if we have any hope of escaping this.” He turned and headed back for Ramsay’s tent.

When Robb saw him the next morning, his entire hand was wrapped in bloody cloth and Ramsay was wearing two human fingers on a string around his neck.


	27. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More warnings. Just...more.

_No more guns_ , Ramsay had said, and so he’d taken Theon’s trigger finger, along with his middle finger for good measure. Theon felt the hollow spaces acutely, like a missing tooth, but so, so much worse. He was also sore, inside and out.

— _Gotten tighter since we last fucked? I guess your lover boy didn’t use you as well as I did.—_

Trying to hide his limp, with blood-soaked cloth pressed against his chest, this all felt rather familiar. The past two months might not have happened at all, except that Robb was here, proof that it had. And now he’d been dragged into this. Someone had given him a trench coat to cover himself with, and he walked with his head down, his one item of clothing wrapped tightly around him. Within an hour of walking, he’d torn his bare feet and was now leaving bloody footprints in the sand. He didn’t belong here, with these people.

Theon was thinking of a way to get him out, get the both of them out. If the latter wasn’t feasible, then he’d settle for allowing Robb to escape. It would be hard going back to Ramsay’s “kindness” after he’d experienced real kindness, but he could do it. He could do it if he knew Robb was back with his tribe where he belonged.

So far his best plan had been to create a distraction by starting a fight. If he could get Ramsay to “catch” him flirting with one of the other men, Ramsay would explode like he had before. Theon’s good hand brushed his chest subconsciously. He wasn’t looking forward to another punishment, but if it gave Robb the time he needed, it would do.

It would have to be tonight. He wasn’t sure how far they were from headquarters, but it couldn’t be too far. Which meant time was not on their side. Robb needed to escape before they got back to headquarters, where Ramsay would have the full force of his men. Which meant that tonight, Theon would need to act.

He was caught up in his thoughts when he heard scuffling. His head shot up, wondering if an opportunity had come early—a fight that would allow both him and Robb to slip away unnoticed. His heart sank when he saw it was Robb, lying on the ground as Alyn kicked him mercilessly.

Ramsay noticed too and tore his way over to them. “What’s going on here?”

The whole party stopped marching, even though Ramsay hadn’t given the go-ahead to rest. Theon wound his way closer.

“He’s not cooperating,” Alyn said desperately. “Says he can’t walk anymore.”

“Then _drag_ him.”

“I’m not dragging his dead weight.”

Ramsay pushed Alyn aside and delivered a kick to Robb’s stomach that made Theon cringe. He knew how hard the toes of Ramsay’s boots were. “Listen here.” Ramsay knelt down, fisted his hand in Robb’s hair, and yanked his head back. Robb’s eyes were hard and defiant. Theon wanted to tell him not be an idiot. “I want you back on your feet _right now_.”

“I can’t walk,” Robb said through clenched teeth. “Maybe if your men hadn’t ruined my shoes, my feet wouldn’t be a bloody mess.”

“I don’t care if your feet are a bloody mess.” Ramsay shook his roughly. “You’ll walk until your feet are stumps if I tell you to.”

“I. Can’t. Walk. Anymore.”

Ramsay smashed his face into the ground. “If you can’t walk, you’re useless to me. You don’t want to be useless to me.”

“I’ll carry him.” Theon ignored all the eyes on him as he stepped forward.

Ramsay eyed him up and down. “You’re going to carry him? With that hand?”

“He can ride on my back.”

“I’m sure he can.” Ramsay sneered, stood, and kicked Robb on the chin. “He’ll walk on his own.”

Robb lifted his head. Blood dribbled down from a cut lip. Theon made a step forward to help him up, but Robb shook his head. “Theon…don’t.”

“Yeah, Theon. Don’t.” Ramsay grabbed Theon’s arm and shoved him backwards.

“Leave him alone, Ramsay. I’ll…” Robb gritted his teeth. He winced as he put weight on his damaged hand to get himself up on his knees. “I’ll walk.” He began slowly and surely getting to his feet. Theon couldn’t help but look at the ribbons of blood running across Robb’s feet. He’d torn several toenails off on the sharp rocks littering their path. It looked painful to stand, let alone walk. But Robb did it. He stood, holding his trench coat tight but upright and shoulders back.

Ramsay looked unimpressed, as if Robb should have been able to do this without coercion. He scoffed. “Good. Let me know if he gives you any more trouble, Alyn.”

They began marching again.

 

***

 

Ramsay allowed him to wrap Robb’s feet when they made camp next. Robb was allowed to come over to the fire and sit on one of the fold-open chairs so that Theon could bend down and pick the grit from the wounds before bandaging them. Ideally, he would flush the cuts with water to clean them, but that clearly wasn’t an option. Instead he had to apologize every time Robb’s face folded in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said for the umpteenth time.

Robb had been silent, occasionally shooting hateful glances towards Ramsay, who was eating and laughing with his men and not particularly watching them.

“Have you had anything to eat?” Theon asked softly.

Robb shook his head. “They’re trying to keep me weak.”

He’d figured it out quick.

Theon looked over at Ramsay, just to make sure he wasn’t watching. He wasn’t, at the moment. “I want you to have my shoes,” he whispered into Robb’s ear. “I’ll try to get you some food if I can, but you need to be ready to get out of here at a moment’s notice.” He paused tending to Robb’s feet to take off his shoes.

“You have a plan? What about _your_ feet?”

“I do. You can’t ask any questions, though.” He pulled his other shoe off and set them both to the side. Hopefully nobody would think twice about it, this close to bedtime.

Robb looked like he was going to ask questions or, worse, argue, but that was the moment Ramsay decided to check in on them. “What’s going on over there, Theon? You two have been awfully quiet.”

Theon flinched. “Nothing,” he murmured.

“Patching him up?”

“Yes, sir,” Theon replied. His shy and submissive voice was a bit rusty, but he wanted to put Ramsay in a good mood. And nothing put Ramsay in a good mood like having his ego stroked. Except for violence, maybe.

“Well.” Ramsay took a last dreg from his mug—beer, most likely the awful stuff Ben brewed—and tossed it aside. He could hold his liquor well, and he didn’t so much as fumble when he stood and walked around the fire pit towards them. “Well?” he repeated

“Well what?” Robb said.

“I’m letting you get patched up when I don’t need to. Don’t you have anything to say, Robb of Winterfell Tribe?”

Robb would not look at him. “Not to you.”

He had to have known that wasn’t the right answer, but Ramsay had to have known Robb wouldn’t have given the right answer even if he knew what it was. Ramsay snarled and squatted down next to him, gripping Robb’s chin and forcing his head around. “You’ve been uncooperative, _Robb of Winterfell Tribe_. I’ve kept you this long because our dear Theon says you’ll be useful to me. So far I have yet to see it.”

The idle chattering fell away. The men knew they were in for some entertainment tonight.

“If you won’t be useful to me,” Ramsay continued, “I have a whole gang of men right here who would find a use for you. Or did you not understand that from last night?”

The men laughed. Robb’s face turned red and Theon continued working. It was difficult using only his left hand. Sometimes instinct took over and he would reach with his right, only to see the odd shape of his new hand. _Please, Robb, cooperate just a little longer. Just until I can get you out of here._

“They won’t take you one at a time,” Ramsay went on, to the affirmative jeering of the others. “They’d fill every hole. Get you on your hands and knees, spit you like a wild boar.”

“We’ll show ‘im a good time!” Alyn called. The others agreed.

Robb tried to pull his chin free, but Ramsay strengthened his grip. “You’ve got pretty teeth. You’d like to use them on my Boys, I bet. That’s why they’d knock them out first, to turn you into a good little cocksucker.”

Theon wanted to plug his ears. He wanted to beg for Robb to not do anything stupid. If he could see that they were starving him to make him weak, surely he could see that Ramsay was trying to provoke him now.

“Have you ever heard the noise a man makes,” Ramsay went on, “when he’s got two cocks up his arse? He sounds like a stuck pig. Bleeds like one too.” He grinned, a mouthful of big teeth. Theon could smell the beer on his breath, even from here. “The last man I let them have like that died five days later. It was a long, painful death, and he cried the entire time.”

“Fuck you,” Robb muttered.

Ramsay laughed. The other men laughed.

“It’s almost like you’re testing me.” Ramsay released his chin and stood. “Maybe you’re too stupid to worry about your own skin.” He walked in a wide arc around them. Robb’s eyes followed his every movement. Theon tensed when he came to a stop behind him. “Luckily, you’re also too stupid to _not_ worry about _his_ worthless skin.” He grabbed Theon’s hand and yanked him to his feet.

Theon yelped, more from surprise than pain, as he was hoisted up. Robb leapt to his feet, but Ramsay danced out of reach and Alyn jumped out of his chair to grab Robb. He needn’t have bothered, because Robb ended up on his knees when he tried to take a step forward. A round of hearty laughter drowned out Robb’s feeble cursing.

“He is pretty pathetic, isn’t he?” Ramsay wrapped his hand around Theon’s neck and squeezed. “I can see why you’d want to protect him.” Theon would have wondered which of them he was talking about if his windpipe wasn’t being forced closed.

“Don’t touch him,” Robb growled at the ground.

“I’ll touch him—” Ramsay gave Theon a rough shake. His throat spasmed under Ramsay’s grip. “—because he _belongs_ to me. And you do too.”

Theon's ribcage expanded as his lungs tried to draw in oxygen, but it was just empty space.

“You’re the one who shouldn’t be touching things that don’t belong to you.”

He squeezed even harder, and splotches of black erupted in Theon’s vision.

“I get it.” Robb scrabbled up to his knees and held his hands up in surrender. At least, that’s what it looked like to Theon’s swimming vision. Robb wasn’t much more than a blurred shape with red hair. “I get it. You don’t need to hurt him to get your point across. I’ll cooperate.”

Theon wanted to tell him to stop. Ramsay wasn’t going to kill him. The reasonable side of his brain knew this, knew that Ramsay would never finish him off so quickly and cleanly. But the other side of his brain, the primal survival instinct, only knew that his body was shutting down, that his lungs were collapsed bags of empty air, that every blood vessel in his body was burning.

“See how quickly your tune changes,” Ramsay said. His words barely had any meaning anymore. “That’s all you needed. A little leverage.”

He released his hold and Theon’s windpipe opened back up. He grasped at this throat as he choked air back into his lungs. He couldn’t fill his chest fast enough or full enough, and his limbs trembled as new oxygen seeped back into his bloodstream.

Ramsay stepped around him. He was still talking to Robb. “Here’s how things are going to go. You’re going to sit right there—” He pointed to the chair Robb had fallen out of “—and you’re going to watch while I teach you a lesson about touching other people’s belongings.”

He turned and stalked back towards Theon.


	28. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you only heed one warning, make it the warning for this chapter. 
> 
> My author's note at the end is going to be, "At least I didn't kill him."

They hauled him up, forced him back into the chair, and held him down. Robb couldn’t see their faces; all he could see was Theon’s blank stare as the clothes were torn from his body. Literally torn. Ripped apart at the seams by Ramsay’s careless hands. Theon shuddered in the cold night air, the hair on his body standing on end as his flesh gave way to goose bumps.

Worse was when Ramsay began undressing. He showed more care for his own clothes than he did Theon’s. Hells, he showed more care for his clothes than he did for _Theon_ , folding his shirt and many-pocketed cargo pants into a facsimile of a pile and setting them aside. He didn’t hold Theon while he was undressing, but Theon just stood there, eyes rooted to the ground. Robb wanted to scream at him to run, but they both knew he wouldn’t make it very far.

“You don’t need to do this.” Robb struggled against the hands holding him. The laughter and jeering came from every direction, and it was almost like the hands were disembodied creatures of Ramsay’s will. “Please. I said I’ll cooperate.”

Ramsay scoffed and finished undressing. He was already fully hard. Robb didn’t want to think it was from choking Theon earlier. Ramsay caught him staring and gave himself a few strokes. “Gonna show you how a _real_ man pleases someone.”

He pulled up one of the fold-out chairs to be right across from Robb, grabbed Theon’s wrist, and yanked him into his lap. Theon clung to him with shaking limbs.

“Well?” Ramsay bucked into Theon’s bare ass rubbing against his erection. “How does your lover boy measure up to me?”

Robb couldn’t see Theon’s face, but he heard the hollowness in his voice as he answered, “You’re bigger.”

“You like a big cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You like _my_ big cock, plugging up that gaping hole of yours. You like taking my cock so far up your ass that you can taste it in the back of your throat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Leave him alone!” Robb was shaking in rage now. “If you want to fuck somebody…fuck me.”

The disembodied voices around him laughed.

“All in good time, Robb Stark of Winterfell. I’ll have you begging as sweetly as my pet here. But for now, I want you to just watch and learn.” And without further bravado, he grasped Theon’s hips, lifted him up, spun him around, and, without any warning or preparation, brought him back down on his prick.

It was an awkward angle, and it took three tries to get himself fully seated. Theon’s face contorted in pain, but he was trying not to cry out, Robb could tell. His eyes met Robb’s. “Please…don’t look.”

“No,” Ramsay hissed. “ _Do_ look. Look how well our dear Theon takes me. He was _meant_ to take me. You probably felt like nothing inside of him.” He grabbed Theon’s face and squeezed his cheeks together with one meaty hand. “Isn’t that right, Theon? _Look_ at him over there. Look into his eyes and tell him how he felt like _nothing_ inside of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Theon said, and that seemed to satisfy Ramsay enough. He began fucking into Theon with even less care.

Robb vowed not to look away as Theon slowly lifted his head. He owed it to Theon to not look away. He kept his eyes on Theon’s, though, and not on the pistoning of Ramsay’s hips or the sound their flesh made as it came together in brutal thrusts. Theon winced and clenched his teeth but didn’t look away from Robb either.

“Robb…”

It wasn’t audible over the yelling and laughing, but Robb could make out the shape of the words on Theon’s lips.

“I love you.”

Robb almost laughed at his awful timing, but when he saw Theon’s face harden into resolve, he knew he was planning something. _Oh Gods, Theon, don’t…_

Theon went limp in Ramsay’s grasp, allowing his head to roll forward on his chest. Ramsay took this as a sign to go faster and harder, flesh slapping against flesh, bruising, tearing. Theon grimaced but remained still, as if he had surrendered to this punishment. Ramsay leaned forward and buried his nose in Theon’s hair. “You smell like him,” he growled. “We’ll fix that.”

In response, Theon tensed and snapped his head up, bringing the back of his skull smashing into Ramsay’s nose. It wasn’t a terribly powerful blow, but it caught Ramsay off-guard enough that Theon could reach behind him and starting clawing at his face, with his good hand at least.

The men were caught off-guard as well. The instant Robb felt the hands relaxing, he sprang forward, tearing free of their grasp. There was no pain in his feet, no pain in his muscles or empty stomach. There was only Ramsay, struggling to bring Theon back under control. Robb launched himself at his target with enough force to send Ramsay, chair and all, falling over backwards.

Then there was scrambling. Theon had the right idea of it. Robb climbed onto Ramsay’s chest and began clawing at his face, trying to get at his eyes with his thumbs. He didn’t get to deal much damage before the hands were back on him, pulling him off, pummeling every inch of him until he couldn’t breathe. Still he fought through the haze the world had become, hitting back with elbows and knees, looking for Ramsay in the midst of the chaos that had erupted. _Kill him, kill him._

The beating continued. Robb couldn’t tell how many men had joined in. The world had tipped over. He was lying with his cheek against the dirt, the heat of the fire to his back. The punching turned to kicking and stomping, and he instinctively curled in on himself. _Theon? Where is Theon? Did he get away? If they kill me here, so be it, but at least let me know that he got away._

“Stop, you idiots!”

The kicking stopped and the sky seemed to open up. Robb was able to breathe again. He lifted his head to see why Ramsay had given such an order.

Both Ramsay and Theon were naked, but now it was Ramsay who looked small, with a sharp knife pressed against his neck. Theon held it in his left hand, shaking so hard that it had already nicked the skin and allowed tiny rivulets of bloods to pour down the thick column of Ramsay’s throat. Where had he gotten a knife? No, never mind. That was hardly important right now.

“Stand back,” Ramsay hissed to his men. “Stand back now!”

Theon nodded towards Robb. “Here’s how things going to go,” he said, low and dangerous in a way Robb had never heard from him before. “Robb and I are walking out of here. You’re going to give us an hour head start. I’ll let your leader go after that hour, but if you try to follow us any sooner, I’ll kill him.”

“He’s bluffing,” one of the men said.

Theon cut deeper, and Ramsay cried, “I said to stand back!”

The men did.

“Robb, grab my shoes. And Ramsay’s boots. We’re getting out of here.”

Robb crawled to his feet and gathered the items. Theon had Ramsay’s cargo pants slung over his shoulder already, and Robb helped Theon back into his shoes before putting Ramsay’s oversized boots on his own shredded feet. Knife still pressed to Ramsay’s throat, they began to back away from the campfire.

“I mean it!” Theon called when they were just outside of the fire’s circle of light. “Any of you follow us early and I cut his fucking throat open.”

“So what?” One of the men stepped forward. “Go ahead. Kill him. About time for a change in leadership anyway.”

“Alyn,” Ramsay said harshly. “You better hope they kill me, because when I get back, I’m personally going to cut your fucking legs off and drag you into the Wastes. I’ll uncoil your guts an inch at a time and leave the buzzards to finish you off.”

That stopped any further words from the men. Apparently Ramsay could strike fear into them even when completely naked and held at knife point. Nobody followed as they made their way from the camp.

Theon was limping. Robb couldn’t see very well in the dark, but there was something wet and shiny trailing down Theon’s legs. “Stop for a moment,” Robb said. He took the knife from Theon—his hand was steadier anyway—so that Theon could slip the cargo pants on. It felt good to have Ramsay at his mercy like this. It wouldn’t be too hard to let his hand slip and cut too deeply into Ramsay’s jugular.

“We need to move quickly,” Theon said. “They won’t give us an hour.”

“No matter how much of a head start you get,” Ramsay chuckled, “we’ll catch you. And when that happens, I’m going to use this knife—” He gave the barest nod towards the knife in Robb’s hand, as much as he could afford with the blade cutting into his throat. “—and I’m going to fuck you with it. Both of you.”

He was still hard, and his breathing was heavy. Even now, with his life on the line, he was excited. Robb didn’t have time to be ill at the thought. Instead, he grabbed Ramsay’s stiff cock and, knife gripped in his other hand, cut it off in one vicious stroke.

Ramsay squealed and bled like a stuck pig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least I didn't kill im.


	29. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late in posting today. I just read all your wonderful comments and will get around to responding to them soon, hopefully. Thanks so much!

They ran as fast as their broken bodies could carry them. Ramsay was in no condition to give chase, but that didn’t mean the others wouldn’t try. Despite the pain in his hand, the pain in his ass, and the pain in the back of his head where he’d smashed Ramsay’s nose, Theon couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of Robb’s hand in his. They ran, staggering, tripping, helping each other up, until Ramsay’s anguished howls faded, either from distance or Ramsay’s voice giving out. Even then they didn’t stop.

They didn’t stop to speak. Theon didn’t know where they were going, and Robb probably didn’t either. Just…far away from here. Back to the truck, if they could find it. If they were even going in the right direction.

They had been running at near-to-full speed for almost an hour when Theon began to wonder what would come next. He had Ramsay’s pants and the knife he’d taken from their pockets; Robb had his trench coat and Ramsay’s shoes. That was it. No food. No water. When the sun came up, they’d have no shelter. And they were at least two days’ journey from the truck, and a day’s journey by truck from Winterfell headquarters.

_Perhaps we’ll die out here. They’ll wonder about what happened to us, back at home._

Was Winterfell home now? It certainly wasn’t with Ramsay anymore.

_I’ll miss Winterfell_ , he thought. _Gilly, thank you for everything. I’ll really miss spending time with you in your greenhouse. Satin, thanks for introducing me to pleasure again. Jon, you’re kind of an asshole, but I hope you don’t die. And if you do, I’m sorry we failed you._

He felt his legs giving out and let go of Robb’s hand. Robb should keep going as long as he could. But Robb stopped running as soon as Theon did. Their breathing was heavy and ragged. Theon’s throat had never felt so dry, not even after five days of wandering in the Wastes on his own after his uncle had died. He flicked his tongue inside his mouth, trying to work up the moisture to speak.

“I should have asked you…earlier.” By the sound of Robb’s voice, he wasn’t doing much better. “Be my man, Theon.”

Theon nodded and sank to his knees.

Robb followed him.

“I can’t run anymore.”

“I know.”

He leaned his forehead against Robb’s chest. “Hold me…until I go?”

“You’re not…going…anywhere.”

He’d gotten better at reassuring. Still, he wrapped his arms around Theon’s shoulder, and despite being half-naked and exposed in the middle of the Wastes, Theon had never felt safer. Would Ramsay’s men be able to track them in the dark? Maybe, maybe not. Robb still had the knife in his hand. By the time the sun came up tomorrow, Theon didn’t intend to be around to give them the satisfaction.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that. It was peaceful out here, in the pitch black, with only the stars hanging above them. Theon tried to remember what his uncle had said about dying.

_—It’s not so bad. There’s another side, a place with so much water you can drown in it.—_

The way his throat hurt right now, that sounded pretty good.

He might have drifted off and never woken up again. But he did wake up.

Robb was shaking him with urgency. Everything was flooded with light. He opened his eyes to find the night had not yet passed. Or maybe so much time had passed that day and come and gone again. Regardless, it was dark out, except for the blinding light beaming into their eyes.

Theon threw his hands in front of his face and squinted into the light. No way was that the sun. Wrong direction.

“Who are you?” a voice asked. “What are you doing out here?”

“Please.” Robb’s voice was a harsh croak. “Please, we’ve just escaped from Ramsay Snow and we’re—”

“Ramsay Snow?” the voice said. “We don’t want anything to do with Ramsay Snow.”

“Please,” Robb repeated with more urgency. “We’re not—look at us. We’ve got no supplies. We’re…we’re unarmed…” He tossed their one knife onto the ground. Theon kept his eyes on it. “Please, my friend needs medical attention.”

“They need help,” a second voice, tiny and high-pitched, said.

“Just stay down,” the first voice said to the second. Then, back to them, “I’m sorry. We can’t help.”

“We can’t just leave them here,” the second voice said. Theon heard the now-distinct noise of a car door opening, followed by another and a string of curses.

“Get back in the Jeep. We don’t know who they are.”

“I…I’m Robb of Winterfell Tribe, and this is my husband, Theon.”

_Husband_.

“I promise you, we mean no harm. We’re from a peaceful tribe, and my husband has been badly hurt and—”

A tiny silhouette, no larger than a child, appeared from out of the blinding light. “It’s alright,” the second voice said. Theon didn’t even hear the sound of footsteps as the figure approached slowly. “We’ll help you. Won’t we, Father?”

“Shireen, get back here.” He did hear footsteps as the owner of the first voice drew near.

“I won’t,” the second voice said firmly, and now the shape was close enough that Theon could see a child, probably a girl child from the long hair. “They’re escapees, just like us.”

The owner of the first voice was a grown man, apparently old enough to have a head and beard of graying hair. That was an impressive feat in itself. He grabbed hold of the girl’s arm. “We need to keep moving.”

“You sound just like my other father. He probably wouldn’t have stopped to help them either.”

There was silence between the two of them.

At last, the man let go of her arm. “Can you make it to the back of the Jeep?”

Robb and Theon piled into the back of a large, square-ish truck covered in a canvas canopy. After some discussion—the girl wanted to get in back with them and show them the medical supplies; the man refused—the man and his daughter got into the front seats.

“Thank you,” Robb said. He took a seat on one of the plastic boxes while Theon lay down on the floor. Sitting right now would be agony for him. The rumbling as the car started was comforting. “Can I ask your names?”

“I’m Shireen,” the girl said, “and this is my father, Davos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did somebody call for a _Davos ex machina_?


	30. Robb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, I'm playing fast and loose with parentage in this story. For instance, Jon is Ned and Cat's biological son, but that's what happens when you kill off 80% of the female population. So, a note on family units in this 'verse. 
> 
> To keep the same genes from being used over and over again, many of the remaining women practice [polyandry](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polyandry), with two or more husbands taking care of the children, regardless of who the actual biological father of said children is. The technical term for this type of family setup is [partible paternity](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partible_paternity). 
> 
> Some minor warnings for this chapter:  
> -Early symptoms of PTSD  
> -Some medical and first-aid descriptions  
> -Not a warning, but untagged Stannis/Davos and Stannis/Melissandre

Robb was deathly tired, but he stayed awake to tend Theon’s wounds in the dim glow from the dashboard lights. In truth, there wasn’t much he could do. His fingers had mostly stopped bleeding, so Robb replaced the wrappings with new material, a surgical gauze he found in the plastic container he’d been sitting on. As for the other source of bleeding—there wasn’t anything he could do until the light of day.

“Thank you,” he said again, once Theon was asleep, lying on his side on a rough-fiber blanket. Robb wasn’t quite ready to trust these people unconditionally, but they had saved their lives. “Where did you say you were going?”

“Anywhere,” the man, Davos, replied.

“And where did you come from?” Robb eyed the stacks of plastic containers. There was some serious medical equipment in here.

“It’s a bit of a story,” Davos said.

Robb pried his boots off and began examining the bottoms of his feet as best he could. “Go ahead. I need something to keep me awake.”

Davos was quiet for a few moments. His eyes would occasionally flash in the rearview mirror, watching the two of them suspiciously. Finally, he spoke. “When it became apparent that humanity was losing the war to the Plague, the greatest minds of the time decided to create a self-sustaining facility to continue their search for a cure. Or perhaps to ride out the worst of it. They isolated themselves deep within a mountain complex, Storm’s End Laboratories. That’s where we came from.”

Robb nodded to show he was following.

“Four generations of those scientists’ descendants had lived in that mountain when I came to live there. Shireen, here, is the fifth. My husband’s biological daughter.” In the mirror, his mouth curled into a rueful smile. “Her mother…believed the Plague was a divine punishment to cleanse the world of sin. She believed she was to save humanity by bringing us out of these dark ages.

“She became convinced that only the truly righteous could be infected with the Plague and pass through its ‘healing flames.’ That was the initiation rite. Anyone found wandering near the facility was apprehended, locked in a vault, and exposed to the Plague. I didn’t have much say in the matter, but I passed the Red Woman’s test, so I was allowed to join them.”

Robb looked up at that. “Did you say the Red Woman?”

“That’s what she’s called on the outside, I’ve heard.”

So, Theon’s story about the Red Woman was true. Or at least partially. “Is it true what they say about her, then? Is she…a sorcerer?”

“No,” Davos said. “She’s quite mad, I’m certain, but she follows science. She has a method.”

Deliberately infecting trespassers with the Plague. That must have been what happened to Ramsay’s scouts who never returned. Robb shuddered at the thought. After all he’d been through, people always found new ways to sicken him.

“How long were you held prisoner there?”

“I wasn’t a prisoner. Not really. My husband—the man who would become my husband—offered me the chance to stay or leave. I had nowhere to go, and so I stayed. I started a life for myself there and became a father to Shireen.”

The girl had fallen into a peaceful sleep, her cheek pressed against the glass of the window. In the faint greenish light from the dashboard, Robb could see that a full half of her face was afflicted with the Plague pox.

“Did your daughter….?” Robb nodded towards Shireen.

“When she was a child,” Davos said. “Before I arrived. I never would have allowed it. I don’t know why Stannis did. It was far more dangerous for her to be exposed to the Plagye than it was for me. But she survived. The Red Woman then became convinced that the key to humanity’s salvation was in this girl. She began to…hypothesize…” He mouthed the word out deliberately, as if it weren’t a term that came naturally. “…that a second ‘cleansing’ would result in a cure. An…in-incol…incolcation…she called it something like that.”

Robb watched the way Shireen’s steady breathing fogged the glass. “That would have killed her.”

“Certainly,” Davos agreed. “So you see why we had to flee in the middle of the night. We took one of Storm End’s Jeeps and have been driving for three days now. I don’t know where we’ll go, but we have enough supplies to last for several weeks.”

“You could come back to our tribe. We take in all sorts of refugees from the Wastes.”

“Winterfell, you called it?”

The man had a good memory.

“You’d be welcome.”

If they declined, Robb and Theon would have to leave them here and make it back to Winterfell headquarters on their own. He didn’t relish the idea, but now that he’d had a chance to dress his feet and redress his hand, he supposed he could probably make it if Davos dropped them off at the outpost.

“Where is it from here?”

“Five days by foot.” Robb looked through the windshield. Far off on the horizon, the first rays of dawn were breaking. “I’ll be able to find a marker once it gets a little lighter. For now, just keep heading straight.”

 

***

 

Robb had honestly thought several times last night that he would never see Winterfell headquarters again, or the tribe members who came running to greet them. They met Grenn and Pyp stationed at the outposts, rifles drawn because a strange truck had just pulled up and there was no way they could know Robb was in it. He threw open the canvas flap, jumped down from the truck bed—landing harshly on his torn feet—and ran to them. They immediately lowered their weapons when they saw him.

“Robb! Hells, where have you been? You gave everyone a scare.”

The first words out of Robb’s mouth were, “How’s Jon?”

“He’s alive,” Grenn answered.

Robb breathed in relief.

“He almost slipped away a few times,” Pyp said. Grenn shot him a disapproving glare, as if he weren’t supposed to divulge that information. “Funnily enough, he started coming around when Ygritte told him you’d run off in the night, possibly on his account.”

“I brought help.” Robb waved to the Jeep. Shireen waved back. “And new friends.”

“Okay,” Pyp said uncertainly. He would need some more convincing—the whole tribe would probably need some more convincing—but for now Robb’s word would be good. He turned his eyes back to Robb and looked him up and down. “Do I want to know why you’re naked?”

 

***

 

Robb found himself stretched out on the same table Jon had been lying on when he’d been so close to death. It really was as cold as it felt. “I let Ygritte take him back to their room,” Sam explained as he searched through the boxes of medical supplies. “He was doing well enough that he could stay awake for more than an hour at a time, but he still spends most of the time sleeping in bed. He’s in bad need of another blood transfusion—”

Robb began rolling up his sleeve.

“—but not from you. Not in your condition.”

“We know Jon and I are a match, blood-wise,” Robb protested. “Who else would do it?”

Shireen, who was helping Sam sort through the supplies—pointing out what each was used for, if Sam couldn’t tell right away—looked up. “We have something that could help.” She stood, dusted off her smock, and began darting around the room, lifting box lids and peering inside. The whole medical bay was a maze from all the boxes unloaded from their truck. After a few minutes of scavenging, she reappeared by Sam’s side holding a fistful of clear plastic packets. “These are litmus tests for blood type,” she said as she pried one of the packets open and fished out a thin strip of paper. “You prick someone’s fingertip and press it against this paper here. Then you look at the key and you can find out what their blood type is. It’s very basic. Back at the lab, we could determine compatibility based on five different factors. This one only does two, but it should be good enough for your purposes.”

Sam eyed her with wonder and took the packets. “Yes,” he stammered. “Yes, this should help.”

“You can test your whole tribe and set up medical documents like they had back at the lab,” Shireen went on, as if explaining to a child. Sam might as well have been a child for how enraptured he was. “Then if something happens in the future, you’ll have a record of everyone’s compatibility.”

Robb sighed in relief and rolled his sleeve back down. He would have given more blood, but he was glad he didn’t have to. He was still tired from the last transfusion, and remembering how weak it had made his body—how easily Ramsay’s men had pinned him down—that wasn’t something he ever wanted to feel again. He was beginning to understand why Theon had been insistent for so long that everything Ramsay had done to him had been done with consent. The idea of living with that helplessness day in and day out made Robb feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

Right now, Theon was sleeping on the table next to him. Sam had cleaned his wounds and given him some wine to help, since there wasn’t much else to be done. He’d told Robb that none of the damage was life-threatening beyond the possibility of infection. “He’ll need you to check…where he can’t,” he’d said, “to make sure everything’s healing the way it should.”

Robb felt like he’d gotten off easily in comparison. His feet were still sore, but with a thick layer of clean gauze, they no longer hurt too badly to stand. Sam had advised there might be permanent nerve damage to his hand, but it wasn’t any use worrying about it right now. It hurt in a way he couldn’t articulate to think he’d never go back to fixing things in the garage. He wondered if Theon felt this ten times over whenever he looked at his missing fingers.

Sam and Shireen were talking animatedly about supplies and Theon was sleeping peacefully. Robb felt cold and alone. He knew he should sleep too, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw…things. He saw the knife stuck clear through his hand. He saw the hands pinning him down, first while violating him and then while violating Theon. He saw Theon’s face as Ramsay raped him. He even saw the blood as he’d cut Ramsay’s rapist cock off. These were not images conducive to sleep.

There was a time after Jeyne’s death, after the period of unbearable pain, where he thought he’d never feel anything again—happiness or anger or disgust. He felt so hollow for days on end that he became afraid. Funny as it sounded, he was _afraid_ that he’d never have another human feeling ever again.

He felt that same hollowness creeping back, like a response to an overload. He’d been so afraid and angry and sad in the last few days that he had simply run out of things to feel. Even now, back at Winterfell with his tribe, he didn’t feel anything he’d expected—not relieved or safe. Just tired. And empty.

He laid his head back and looked over at Theon. He was curled in on himself, like an infant, arms and legs drawn close to his body under the thick woolen blanket someone had brought for him. His head had rolled off the pillow, and now his cheek was pressed flat against the table. His breath steamed against the stainless steel. Robb was taken aback by how similar his pose was to Shireen’s as she’d slept with her face against the window. He was peaceful.

Staring at his face, Robb felt something. He felt happy that he’d survived for Theon’s sake. He felt happy that Theon would live, and Jon too. He felt happy knowing that if he closed his eyes right now, everyone he cared about would still be there when he woke up.

He let his eyes close and tried to replace the images of blood with Theon’s face. It took about fifteen minutes, but eventually he drifted off in a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left. *Sad sigh*


	31. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm so terrible at ending my stories, guys. The setting for this one in particular doesn't lend itself to resolution. So, warning for typical sappy ending stuff, but bittersweet sappy ending stuff.

“I’m going to give control of the tribe over to Jon.”

Theon blinked. “No,” he said far too quickly. “Why?”

Robb settled deeper into his pillow. Pushing their cots together gave them enough room to sleep side by side, and most nights found them facing each other like this. This was the first night since they’d moved in together—nearing a full week now—that Robb had said anything beyond simple pleasantries.

“I’m no leader,” he answered with a weary sigh. “I never was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m a failure. I couldn’t protect Jon _or_ you. I couldn’t protect Jeyne.”

“Is that what you think?” Theon lifted his hand. “Is it okay if I touch you?” Since they’d gotten back, Robb didn’t like to be touched if he couldn’t see who was doing it. He nodded now, and Theon caressed his cheek with his thumb. Luckily he was lying on his right side, his mangled hand pinned under his pillow, and he could use his whole hand to comfort his husband.

“Look at how pathetic I am,” Robb said. “You have to ask permission to touch me.”

“I don’t mind,” Theon said. “I _like_ asking permission.”

“I’m a terrible leader and a worse husband.”

Theon clucked his tongue. Maybe Robb actually believed that. Or maybe this was like a dying man’s need for reassurance. Either way, this line of thinking needed to be stopped. “Hey,” he said, brushing his thumb over Robb’s lip, “nobody talks that way about my man, understand?”

Robb sniffled.

“Come on now,” Theon coaxed. “Since when have I been the strong one between the two of us?”

“You’ve always been the strong one,” Robb protested. “Gods, you’ve been through so much worse than me. When I look at you and Gilly and Satin, and then I look at myself…” He shook his head. “I would have broken under the same circumstances.”

“You don’t know that. And I think you’ve been holding up very well. If you’re worried about this…” He continued the feather-light touched to his face. “This will pass. And if it doesn’t, that’s fine too. I never thought I’d be brave, but I held a fucking knife to Ramsay’s throat for you. So if you think you can scare me off now…you’re dumber than you look.”

Robb blinked slowly.

“And you _look_ pretty dumb,” Theon teased.

That coaxed a smile out of Robb.

“Don’t give Winterfell to Jon. He’ll make everyone mopey.”

Robb laughed at that, just the tiniest chuckle, but it was like music ringing in Theon’s ears.

“Just picture it: Enforced hours of brooding. I’ll have to practice.” Theon pulled his face into a facsimile of Jon’s resting pout, exaggerating the drawn brow and pursed lips. It had the desired effect.

“You’re so mean to him,” Robb laughed, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. He didn’t have a problem _initiating_ touch, it seemed. “I’m going to tell Ygritte you’ve been badmouthing her man.”

“You’re aware that she might kill me?”

“Of course. And you’d deserve it.”

“Good. Then you recognize that badmouthing someone’s man is a capital offense, even if said badmouthing comes from said man. So let’s hear no more of this.”

Robb nodded against his pillow. “I just…I’m scared, Theon. I’ve always _been_ scared. You’re the only person I’ve ever been able to tell, but these feelings…they’re not new. I have doubts, every day. I wake up and hope I’ll get this tribe through another day. Always, in the back of my mind, I think…why do they trust me?”

“Okay, that’s fair, I guess,” Theon conceded. “But you know, up until a couple months ago, I thought Ramsay was sent down by God Himself to save me. I thought he was more than I deserved. I’d probably still be thinking that, if you hadn’t _actually_ saved me. So tell me…” He made his voice low and husky, playfully insinuating. “Did it hurt?”

“Well, Sam says my feet will heal, and my hand—”

“Robb.”

“What?”

“You were supposed to say, ‘Did what hurt?’”

“Oh.” Robb blinked twice before he caught on. “Oh, uh, did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven?”

Robb blinked twice more. “Implying I’m an angel?”

Theon nodded.

“That’s awful.”

“I know. I read it in an old magazine once. It was meant to work on women, I guess.”

“The pre-Plague people were kind of weird.” He sidled as close to Theon as their joined cots would allow. Too far and he’d tip the whole thing over. “Thanks for cheering me up.” He raised his hand—unfortunately his wounded right hand, as he was lying on his left side—and let it rest on Theon’s waist. “I guess we just take one day at a time.”

Theon laid his hand on top of Robb’s, leaned across the distance between them, and planted a gentle kiss on his husband’s forehead. This whole comforting thing was strange and new, but also a little empowering. He hoped he was doing it okay. The look of contentment tinged with sorrow in Robb’s blue eyes when he drew back told him he was. “Just like we’ve always done.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. You keep me writing and posting.


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